


The Crown

by VeryImpressive



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Royalty, De-Aged Character(s), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Intrigue, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Royalty, Violence, but not by much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImpressive/pseuds/VeryImpressive
Summary: Min Yoongi was dangerous.He knew it too.But he just couldn't resist, not even for a moment[Royalty-Bodyguard-AU]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd - I had to get this out there, this plotbunny had been attacking me for days, and frankly, I couldn't quite sleep until I got it out. 
> 
> As always, as much as I'd like to think that I'm capturing some essence of the people that I'm portraying, and as much as I believe that I am capturing some essence of who they, for safety's sake, I will say that their portrayal in this story is fictional, and that any similarities are purely a matter of coincidence. 
> 
> Also, there are some things that I've rearranged to suit my own purposes, such as Jimin and Taehyung's ages, as well as a more western feel to this fictional monarchy that I've created, this is very much a deliberate move on my part, considering that I've always found Western Monarchies to be messier. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

**_It was said that the Lords of the Infinite were as vivacious, beautiful and magnetic, as they were deadly, and calculating_ **

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

 

This one was dangerous. 

What an  _interesting_  development. 

Not so much the picture of studious loyalty that was _supposed_ to be displayed by the direct security attaché to the Imperial family, but rather something else. Whereas Jungkook was the consummate solider, the byproduct of years of training by the best of the best of the armed services, this man looked to be like a mercenary. This one looked like he would kill first, and ask questions later, this one looked as if he would take his position literally, rather than understand that its modern duties were ceremonial. He would be responsible for the security of the sovereign, but in the modern age, no one would dare attempt to threaten the life of the crowned ruler. 

"Your Imperial Majesty," Jungkook bowed deeply at the neck, before gesturing to the still kneeling man beside him. The man was dressed in the full red and blue dress uniform of the Imperial Guard, a presumption on Jungkook's part, to dress the man in that uniform, but a nice touch. "May I present Captain Min Yoongi, of Your Imperial Majesty's guard, the only man that I would have full confidence in, if he were to take over my duties." 

Jimin tapped his finger against the solid oak arm of the throne, not taking his eyes off the kneeling man at the foot of its steps. Jungkook was a childhood friend, to him and his brother, and as such, he felt that could often take certain liberties.

Perhaps he could, he certainly wouldn't _punish_ him for it, he hadn't when he'd been the heir to his grandfather's throne, and that wouldn't change now that he was sitting _on_ that throne. 

But this was new, even for Jungkook. 

His grandfather had been dead for a month, and consequently, he'd been the de-facto Emperor since then, due to be officially crowned next week. Jungkook had been the head of his grandfather's security, and now that his charge was dead, he was looking for a new charge.

Jimin wasn't about to deny his request, but that had changed the moment that he heard _who_ wanted to take Jungkook as the head of their security. 

His brother, Taehyung, the Prince Imperial. 

Jimin was prepared to turn a blind eye to _that_ relationship, because he saw it exactly for what it was, but he wasn't going to put his brother's boyfriend in the position of being his head of security. He thought that the matter had been settled, and that Jungkook was content to either stay in service to the Imperial Family, to him, or to an extended member of his family, or go, and perhaps manage the personal security of some high-ranking dignitary or official. 

But he'd obviously been mistaken. 

"And where are _you_ going, Captain Jungkook?" Jimin asked his friend, his tone light. 

The gaze he leveled onto Jungkook was frosty, but the younger man merely smiled, and rearranged his hands so that they were clasped behind the small of his back.

"His Highness, The Prince Imperial, has stated his interest in having me take over his security," Captain Yoongi was probably clueless, still kneeling, not allowed to make eye contact with the sovereign until ordered to do so, but Jimin wondered if the man could detect the smug tone in Jungkook's voice. "I thought it prudent to present to you a candidate, your grandfather was dear to me, but I cannot serve another sovereign." 

Jimin _knew_ what that meant. 

His grandfather had been aware of their relationship too, and while he was perfectly supportive of it, he had the same reservations that Jimin had. Now his grandfather was gone, and Jungkook probably figured that he could flex his influence with more ease, without interference from the crown." 

" _Oh_ , you might very well be released from my service, but _perhaps_ not into the service of The Prince Imperial," Jimin took on a very false-tone of sweetness, and he made no effort to hide it as he cast something between a smile and sneer towards his soon to-be _former_ friend. He then turned his attention to the silent solider at the bottom of the steps, and tapped a finger against the throne one more time. "You may rise, Captain." 

It was like a scene out of a movie. 

The man first raised his head up, and locked eyes with Jimin, and Jimin felt everything else go into soft-focus. Those eyes, piercing, his lips pursed, he was a striking man, and he felt a blossoming sensation travel down throughout the entirety of his body because of it. It was then that he knew that he should have turned him down, he should've denied him. 

But when he stood to his full height, and the impact of the absurdly attractive solider, in his gaudy military dress uniform, hit him, he knew that the pull to him was _irresistible_. 

When Captain Yoongi saluted him, he wondered, idly, if this was how Taehyung felt. 

"Your Imperial Majesty," Yoongi's deep voice was clipped. 

The blossoming sensation only grew stronger. 

This one was dangerous indeed, more danger then the crown had faced in centuries. 

"Captain Jungkook obviously thinks very highly of you," Jimin began, laying his hands on the two oak arms, wrapping his hands around the two intricate ends. "He's risking his career, and quite possibly, his freedom, to get you an audience, so, with that being said, why should I accept you?" 

At his thinly veiled jab at Jungkook, a very slight malformation of the pursing of his lips came into sight, and Jimin knew that he was repressing a smile.

Even standing side by side, mirroring the posture of Jungkook, the differences were visible. Yoongi looked like the boy that broke the dress code at school, where Jungkook gave the teacher an apple. 

For the first time since his father died, since the day his life was irrevocably attached to the crown that would soon be placed on his head, he felt alive, really, genuinely alive. It felt like his life was his again, he didn't feel that constant need to run away, to pretend to be someone else, in some far flung corner of the Infinite Empire. 

As if he could actually do that. 

But what was life without a little escapism? Every now and then at least. 

"I couldn't possibly comment, sir," Yoongi responded, and this time, the man openly smirked. "Especially if my esteemed colleague has fallen out of favor with you, sir." 

Jimin's brow rose, "Esteemed?" 

"A polite term," The other man's response was amusement, but still incredibly even. 

He fixed the older man with an openly appraising look, and cocked his head in thought. 

He had grown used to the idea of Jungkook being his security attaché, but he would require a far more hands-on approach from the person that eventually took that post, far more than his grandfather ever had. The idea of his oldest friend trailing his every movement, it felt as if that added an extra-layer of security, it brought him comfort, it made sense in his mind. 

But he was clearly going to have to reconsider. 

Jungkook had been young, but effective, not exactly a commoner, but not exactly a member of the aristocracy. He'd been the perfect candidate for his grandfather to place in such an esteemed position, but things had changed now. His grandfather was gone, and he required _different_ attributes in his personal security officer.

He cared not for suitability, if the court had a problem with this attaché being common, they would simply have to suffer. No, what he needed was someone who was effective, effective in ways that he feared Jungkook wouldn't, he needed someone to kill for him. 

Kill to protect him. 

And there was something in this man's eyes that told him that was exactly what he was going to get, where Jimin's happiness, where his wellbeing, would be his _only_ concern. The words didn't have to leave his mouth, he didn't have to send the thoughts along to him, and they didn't have to be spoken aloud, because they were implied. 

It was exactly what he wanted – what he _needed_.

There would be no lax security around him, he would not fall victim to the hubris that had consumed his parents. For decades, centuries even, the idea that anyone would attempt to murder a member of the Imperial Family was laughable, at best. The Lords of the Infinite, until the moment that his parents died, with one well placed bomb, had never suffered a death like that, not since the wars of consolidation, that had been fought _centuries_ ago.

“You understand that I will require a more hands-on approach from my attaché,” Jimin’s voice possessed _all_ tones that he’d been bred to cultivate since the day he learned to walk. “Are you prepared for that commitment?”

The unspoken command was clear, and Jimin somehow knew that the other man could understand, he understood that if he were to accept the position, he would be possessed completely, and utterly, by the sovereign.

Jimin would accept nothing less.

Perhaps, that was how he knew, on a subconscious level, that he would _never_ be able to have Jungkook remain in the post. Jungkook belonged elsewhere, no matter how much it pained him to admit it, even to himself. He had his fears, and maybe, just maybe they had some basis in reality. A basis of them possibly being able to find themselves coming true.

They were the same fears that his grandfather had about Jungkook and Taehyung.

The man’s eyes were still utterly piercing, “I’m prepared for _anything_.”

Jimin resisted the urge to gasp, and with skill that would impress even his late grandfather, he schooled something of a smirk onto his lips to cover it up.

“A bold claim,” Jimin raised a brow, and then turned to Jungkook.

He’d made up his mind, and though he would never give Jungkook the satisfaction of knowing that he’d been right, he had to give his friend something of a conciliatory gesture.

“You stake your reputation on this man?” He asked.

Jungkook nodded, “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“And, if I were to release you into the service of the Prince Imperial,” His tone was almost light, almost teasing. “If this man were to fail me, despite his claim, would you stake a possible position _servicing_ Taehyung?”

He narrowed his eyes at the other man, and sent him a challenging look.

The threat was clear, and Jimin made no attempt to hide it. 

Now that, _that_ was a threat that he would carry out against Jungkook.

* * *

“And then he went on to say that if I let so much as a fly land on your head,” Jungkook explained, with an almost relived grunt, as he savored the feeling of the first thrust into his charge. “...he would have my head.”

With a pull out, and another thrust in, Jungkook latched his teeth onto Taehyung's exposed neck as he threw his head back onto Jungkook's shoulder. No matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times they did this, the thrill hadn’t faded. It didn’t matter that the entire household knew that they were together, even that thrill hadn’t faded between them.

The fact that it was now his duty in life to trail Taehyung’s every move served to only add fuel to the fire. It only served to send another shiver down his spine, one that pressed him to thrust in faster, faster, and faster - until Tae was a blubbering, quivering mess trapped in his arms.

“How... thoughtful of him,” Tae’s response was a small whisper, highlighted with gasps at both ends of his words. 

Said gasps only made Jungkook smirk, and thrust harder.

He couldn’t explain what had drawn him into this, a relationship that would’ve resulted in his death in another day and age. His family had a long association with the crown, one going back hundreds of years, but that had never extended to a familiarity like this. 

In another age, it was a capital crime, for those not of the court, to even _look_ at a member of the Imperial Family. He was sure that he couldn’t possibly fathom the severity, or the _creativity_ , of his punishment if he’d been caught doing this, even only a few decades ago.

Thankfully, the Infinite Empire had undergone a thoroughly regimented program of modernization since those days. 

So, being of common blood, he wouldn’t have his guts ripped out for looking at a member of the Imperial Family, let alone the current heir to the Infinite Throne. 

Much less having an intimate relationship with said heir.

“Yes,” Jungkook grinned, and reached up to pull at Taehyung’s hair, still ruthlessly stabbing at his prostate. “Your brother loves you.”

The sound of Taehyung’s delighted cries filled the foyer that they found themselves in, and it was music to Jungkook’s ears as he wrapped an arm around other man’s midsection, and picked up his pace.

Taehyung could be as loud as he wanted, the servants knew better than to disturb the Prince Imperial, especially in the hour that he took his private audiences. Anyone that got close to the door of the apartments could hear him, but, again, it was long since known among the household to avoid the apartments when he met with Prince Taehyung.

It wasn’t quite the picture of normal domestic bliss that Jungkook would admit that he’d dreamed up before, but it was as close as they were going to get. 

_‘For now’,_  Jungkook mused wryly as his eye strayed down to where they were connected, and watched himself smoothly piston in and out. 

* * *

They were everything that he had ever pictured them being.

As was the state with everything in the palace, everything was plush, everything was posh, and everything was a deep, deep tyrian purple. When he had informed the Emperor’s personal secretary that he had been made the security attaché, he’d been told that the sovereign technically couldn’t change the state of the palace, he could only go along with it.

He’d also been told, thankfully, that the décor did not befit the personal taste of Jimin.

When the court moved to the Winter Palace, he could expect something much less ostentatious, and that he simply had to deal with it.

The only good thing about this place was that he knew the terrain.

The private apartments of the sovereign were enclosed within the central court yard, and there was no conceivable way that an enemy could penetrate the palace itself to get in a potshot at the Emperor. At the very least, they would have a fairly advanced warning to eliminate the intruder.

The same could not be said for the outside world.

Yoongi realized, as he looked down to his new desk, and looked at the files, and files, of people under surveillance, that he would need to exercise an almost unheard level of vigilance. In a way, it was surprising, it shattered every single illusion that he’d ever had about the supposed, near complete, popularity of the Imperial Family. Standing there, he understood that there were many, many, _many_ people that wanted the crown toppled.

“Surprising, isn’t it?” His voice was soft from the door.

Yoongi did a double take, and found the Emperor himself standing in the doorway of their adjoined room. The large, panoramic window behind him was bathed in the light of the setting sun, providing the Emperor with something of an utterly ethereal glow. 

He bowed at the head, “Majesty.”

“Jimin,” The other man insisted.

It took everything that he had within him to not snort in front of him, out of violation of every single respect that he owed the other man. It was a little more complicated than simply referring to the Emperor of the Infinite in such familiar terms, it went against everything he knew.

But on the other hand.

“…Jimin,” Yoongi responded, after a moment of hesitation.

The smile that he was rewarded with could only be described as utterly breathtaking in its intensity. Jimin, he’d noted with great interest, upon coming face-to-face with his sovereign, had proven the age-old legend of the Lords of the Infinite possessing a beauty that was haunting.

As beautiful as women, more so even.

If the history books were anything to go by, a large part of the magnetism that had allowed them to conquer continents was rooted in their looks.

“Captain,” Jimin’s voice was soft. “…you will keep me safe from them?”

He looked back down to his desk, at the stacks of dossiers that were filled with the profiles of a seemingly endless cadre of people that wished Jimin harm. There was only so much that one man could do, only so much that a team could do, and on the face of the situation, it appeared impossible to fulfill that request. But he turned his mind back to the vow that he’d given, back in the throne room, earlier that very day.

And he understood, in that moment, the earnestness with which the Emperor had pressed him on dedicating himself, completely and utterly.

_Park Jimin_ , Emperor of the Infinite, the absolute ruler of virtually the entire planet, the man that could singularly define the fate of billions, and move mountains with a movement of the fingers, was living in abject fear.

Yoongi understood now.

He understood.

“Yes, Jimin,” Yoongi promised him, with a single nod. “I will.”

Jimin merely smiled, and turned on his heels.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

  **And they never forgot their enemies, or their place**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Jimin grimaced. 

Laying eyes on it sent memories rushing back to the forefront of his mind, of a hazy room in the Imperial Palace, where his father and grandfather broke with tradition and allowed _him_ to try it on. Jimin could remember being so _excited_ to wear it, seeing it as a grand symbol of his family's absolute authority, a tradition that he'd been honored to be a part of at the time. It didn't occur to him, at the time, that the damned thing weighed ten pounds, and that the set was three or four times bigger than his head.

When he tried it on, he was simultaneously weighed down to the ground, while the crown itself swallowed his head. He could still remember the burning embarrassment as both men pulled that symbol of authority from him, and laughed affectionately. 

That sense of embarrassment, coupled with the closeness that he’d felt with his father, and grandfather, cemented it as one of his most cherished memories. Yet, somehow, the fact that it was now passing directly onto his head, and technically entering his ownership, made him feel as if those memories were somehow invalidated.

"I want point-by-point security around the crown at all times," Jimin wanted to tune Captain Yoongi's orders out, but he couldn't help but stay tuned in as he continued to gaze at the Imperial State Crown. "If something takes a shot, if someone thinks that they hear a shot, if someone _thinks_ of shooting, it gets shot, those are your orders." 

Jimin leaned closer to the center stone that stat atop of the golden set. 

Its _exact_ worth was unknown, though Jimin would wager that its value was comparable to the gross domestic output of a small _nation_. Hundreds of carats, it drew your eyes to it almost _instantly_ , and the thousands of smaller stones that adorned the set were as pebbles in the contrast. It was easily one of the most valuable diamonds ever discovered on Earth, and perhaps that was why it rested on the State Crown of the Infinite. It was a fitting home, a fitting place to fit a perfect, and utterly _flawless_ , stone. 

It was only when the Dean of the Imperial Household began to sputter with unabashed _rage_ , that Jimin felt he needed to intervene. The older man obviously didn't notice his shift in attention, because as he turned, he saw him glaring daggers at his security attaché. The Dean was a proud man, someone who cared for the Imperial State Jewels, and acted as the official who crowned the sovereign during the _actual_ coronation. However, beyond those two duties, he held no more power than any other individual, perhaps maintaining care of the official state jewels made him feel important.

Jimin would remedy that. 

"Your Excellency," His voice was cool, and he restrained his satisfaction as the older man turned from Yoongi, and quickly bowed to him. "For as long as you've served the Crown, you should know that the security attaché only cares for its best interests."

The man was a blubbering sycophant, but he did his job well. 

"Your Imperial Majesty, this man shows nothing but _impudence_ for the hallowed traditions that come with the coronation," There was a blue blood vessel in the neck of the Dean that seemed to grow with every syllable. "I insist that you remind this peas-…”

But he paid no heed to the man, only shifting the gaze to his ever-silent guard.

It had been less than a week since Captain Yoongi had assumed control of the massive security apparatus around him, and if he was being entirely honest, he could sense some of the differences between how he ran it, and how Jungkook had. It had started with a full-level purge of the old guard, and replacement with new guards handpicked by him. It was a small thing, but it felt like a supremely protective gesture.

It might have been foolish of him, to do this so early in their relationship, but there was something about the other man that made Jimin trust him, almost implicitly. There was no greater trust than to trust someone with your life, and Jimin already trusted him.

Jimin tore his eyes away from the stoic mask of Yoongi, and openly glared at the Dean, “The only _peasant_ in this room that needs to be reminded of their place, is _you_.” 

The only response that he gave, initially anyway, was outraged.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” He was treading dangerously on disrespect. “I must-…”

Jimin held a finger up, “Know your place, Captain Yoongi oversees all of my security, and his word, his _orders_ , are to be obeyed as if they came directly from me.”

“I command it,” He finished, turning from the Dean, to look directly at Yoongi.

He tried to convey everything that was meant to be conveyed behind that order.

Trust was not something that came easily with him, he’d been taught to trust only family, and those that were considered family. As much as they publicly professed to not feel that way, the approach that his family took to the world was very much that a standoffish mentality. As many loyal subjects as there were to the crown, there were those that wanted to see, not necessarily the destruction of his family, but most certainly the abolition of the monarchy. Of course, there were those that wanted to see the end of the monarchy, and there were those that felt that it could only be achieved by his death.

And not only his death, but the murder of his entire family.

That was who Yoongi was charged from protecting him from.

The undermining of the far-less lethal detractors of the monarchy could be dealt with by the intelligence services, but it was purely this man’s job to destroy his enemies.

Captain Yoongi merely nodded, and turned back to the Dean.

As did Jimin.

He watched, silently, as it finally sunk into the man’s mind that he’d been overruled by the one man who could overrule everything. Jimin was the sole human being alive that was above everything, above law, because, for intents and purposes, he was the law. It was fascinating for Jimin to watch, almost, to see how fast someone could go from being an arrogant, prideful, fool, to becoming an obsequious toad.

“As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty,” The Dean bowed at the neck.

“Go,” Jimin waved a finger, and turned back to the crown. “Carry out his orders.”

The Dean bowed, and as quickly as he had shifted from his arrogance into his subservience, he departed the room. Properly chastised, he knew that the prideful Dean would not make trouble for his attaché again, though he knew he’d privately be fuming.

As he turned back to the pedestal, and was once again captured by the hypnotizing allure of the crown, but he did not fail to feel his bodyguards gaze on him.

And he did not bother to ignore the tightening feeling in his gut.

* * *

Yoongi would be the first to admit that he came from a humble home. 

It was only through his parents work ethic that he'd been able to get into the Imperial Military Academy, it meant having to survive long stretches on nothing but the bare minimum. When he graduated, and was sent out into the service, he hadn't hesitated in paying them back tenfold, _when he could_ , but Yoongi could've hardly imagined the position that he now found himself in. He doubted that he could truly repay his parents for the sight that he was now seeing, it was impossibly valuable, and he was quite possibly the first true low-born in the history of the Infinite to ever witness it.

Three days out from the coronation, and everything was proceeding on schedule, and the security was shaping up to his liking. He had also been trailing Jimin’s every move throughout the whole ordeal, but he'd found that none of the rigmarole that they'd been put through was nearly as interesting, or nearly as provocative, as _The Robing_. 

In the center of the room, protected by a large shroud of sheer _tyrian_ -purple silk, which was suspended at the ceiling, and was supported by a large full-body vanity mirror, Jimin stood as _naked_ as the day he was born. Yoongi, as of yet, hadn't been exposed to the sight of his Emperor naked, but he hadn't failed to notice that the two female attendants, who were studiously adorning him with the coronation jewelry, had studiously kept their eyes fixed on their task, rather than gawk on his open nakedness. 

So, had he, for the most part, only given cursory glances to the form of Jimin. 

"Leave us," Yoongi's head suddenly snapped back from the doors, a habit from school that he hadn't lost over the years, and to the shroud. The Emperor's tone was soft, and completely teasing. "There are some things that one prefers to do one’s self." 

"But, sir, you're not dressed?" Yoongi heard one of them gasp in shock.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

"I can dress myself, thank you very much," Jimin's tone took on an imperious quality that Yoongi could not honestly fault him for, but one that he would find that he would have trouble obeying implicitly, even if it was being used by the one being that had a genuine right to use it. "Leave us, and leave the shroud open."

Yoongi chuckled at that, openly, and he made no attempt to hide it from Jimin. 

He wondered what it was like, for a moment, to have that sort of power, and to have the ability to use it arbitrarily. As Emperor, Jimin could, in theory, do whatever he wanted to do, and with a mere word, could turn his wildest fantasy into reality. It was the sort of power that people dreamed of, that people spent their whole lives chasing, it was the kind of power that people joked about. Jimin was just born with it, he was destined to have it the moment he came into the world, and in his time with the younger man, Yoongi had observed that he wielded that power with much measure. 

He folded his hands behind his back as the shroud opened, and the two attendants rushed to either side of the makeshift cocoon to pin it back. Yoongi wasn't paying attention to _that_ though, he wasn't paying attention to any external influence. There, standing in a pool of silk, and finery, was Park Jimin, in all his naked glory, and Yoongi couldn't possibly not stare, because the younger man had already tangled him up. 

Yoongi truly didn't know where to begin. 

His eyes drifted over onto the mirror, and traced the delicate patterns in the Emperor's trim stomach, and the diamond chain that was tied around his slim waist. His eyes drifted down even further to the other man's toned thighs, perfectly smooth, and to, what Yoongi could only think of, as the most perfect ass that he'd ever seen in his life.

Through the mirror, his eyes went direct to the Emperor's rapidly hardening cock. 

Again, totally shaven. 

He quickly forced himself to lock eyes with Jimin, and he found that the entire package was capped by the most blinding of smiles, as their eyes met in the vanity mirror. Yoongi found himself thinking impure thoughts, he found himself thinking that it could be easy, it could be _so_ easy, doing what the tightening feeling in his groin was urging him to do. Yoongi tried to tell himself that he was reading far too much into it, that he was allowing Jimin's natural allure to get to him, and setting him down a rocky path. 

But he was also human, with a human brain, which was capable of fallacies, as well as reading human emotion. What his brain was telling him was that the Emperor was more than aware of the fact that he was being watched. Furthermore, the Emperor was taking great amusement at the expression on Yoongi's face. The logical part of that same brain though, was telling him that while Jimin might have been amused by the fact that he'd flustered him, and that Jimin might have wanted him to openly look, it was still miles away from the Emperor of the Infinite wanting to be _touched_. 

That wasn't a line that Yoongi wasn't prepared to cross. 

Unless he was explicit asked to cross it. 

"Care to lend me a hand?" 

_Oh._

Jimin was practically purring. 

His years at the Imperial Military Academy had taught him the meaning of survival, had taught him to do whatever it took to maintain the goal. He'd once been tasked with dodging live sniper fire on an obstacle course, while avoiding active mines, and the occasion lethal grenade. That lovely exercise was of course the rite of passage for most graduates, where a highly organized attack, either by a sophisticated terrorist organization, or worse yet, another state, was simulated on an Imperial Family member. 

Yet that unadulterated pressure, it was nothing. 

 _Nothing_ in comparison to this. 

"I can fetch one of the attendants to do it, it's not appropriate." 

The younger man raised an eyebrow, and Yoongi realized that he'd _fucked_ up. 

But instead of the tongue lashing that he expected, he watched as one corner of the Emperor's lips curled up into something of an amused smirk. "You should know by now that if there's a _final judge_ on what's appropriate in this world, you're looking at him." 

Yoongi grimaced. 

How did you argue with someone that possessed absolute power? 

If this situation were only slightly different, Yoongi would wager that he would be beyond thrilled for the opportunity to do what he was about to do, but this wasn't any ordinary person. This was the Emperor, there was still a segment of the population that considered the person that bore the title a god.

“Shall I make it an order?” He pressed.

_Talk about topping from the bottom._

He could picture it in his mind, and he wondered, probably against his better judgment, if Jimin was that way with whoever he took to bed. It wasn’t much of a stretch of imagine the other man carrying the unimaginable power that he possessed into the bedroom, and even as he approached him, Yoongi tried his best to force those thoughts from his mind. Flashes of delicious _smooth_ , taunt skin, sweat and moans, coupled with the underlying thrill of the act itself. 

He forced himself back into reality as he finally neared the Emperor’s proximity. He found that he was so close to the smaller man that he could feel the heat radiating off him.

Yoongi tore his eyes away from Jimin’s thighs, and looked up to make eye contact with him through the mirror. The Emperor was staring back, his lips pursed into a teasing smile, his brow still lifted at the corner.

“I’m your ever-humble servant,” Yoongi found that he had to force himself to grumble out the submission.

He found that if he had spoken to the other man without that effort, it might have come out as something of a whisper, or he might not even have spoken. 

He looked to the tray beside the naked man, and then looked back to him. 

"What first?" Yoongi asked. 

Jimin turned and pointed to a set of smooth, silk leggings. 

"These," Jimin answered. 

Yoongi was foaming at the mouth inside, even as he picked them up, and quietly took in the texture of the material. They looked like a set of leggings that he'd once observed his mother air-drying on some clothes on a line the entire day before a job interview. 

Except this material, it seemed that there was even something different about these. 

Maybe they were softer? A more luxurious material? 

Sinking down to his haunches, all too aware of his face's proximity to the Emperor's behind, he watched as the other man daintily lifted his foot. Yoongi swallowed, and gently slid the leggings onto Jimin's foot, and gave his left ankle a little tap before he pulled that foot up.

The two followed in that pattern, all the while Yoongi lightly tracing the feeling of Jimin's pert thighs, letting a finger trail just above the rising cover. 

Yoongi quickly averted his eyes, and quickly stood up as he pulled them over the swell of Jimin's ass. 

He pretended not to notice the obvious erection that the Emperor was sporting as he turned back to the mirror. 

The Emperor wore the same smirk. 

"Will that be all?" Yoongi asked. 

Jimin smiled, and nodded. "You may wait outside." 

Yoongi couldn't have excused himself from that room any faster. 

He wasn't quite sure what would've happened if he'd been forced to stay any longer. 

* * *

Jimin smiled to himself. 

He'd been quite correct when he said that it wasn't at all appropriate, but somehow, he couldn't resist the urge. He was aware of the myths surrounding the men in his family, and he was quite accustomed to being on the receiving end of it.

All and all, he would be lying if he said that he wasn't flattered by it, at least some of the time, but there was something about the glint on Yoongi's eye that drove him to take it further. 

In theory, he could do what he pleased, and no one could complain. 

Countless numbers of his predecessors took male lovers, some never married and remained with their male significant others their entire lives. Others married out of sense of duty, finding understanding women to bare the heirs to the throne. That was the case for many members of his large family, such as his second cousin, Seokjin. 

Seokjin, Prince of the Joseon. 

His cousin, who was, as of that moment, the third in line for the throne, had always resented his presence. From the moment Jimin was born, Seokjin had been pressed back further, and further, until he was rendered nearly irrelevant. Perhaps out of some misplaced sense of rebellion, or trying to exercise some sort of control over his life, he took the head of his household, a commoner, by the name of Namjoon, as his lover. 

His fiancé, with whom he'd been arranged to be married to since birth, had to deal with it. Jimin couldn't help but pity his cousin, he and his brother were exempt from that burden, and maybe that gave Seokjin further impetus for hate. 

But unlike Seokjin, If Jimin wanted to have Yoongi, openly, he could. 

If Taehyung wanted Jungkook, openly, then he could. 

But at some point, even they were beholden to the wills of political expediency. 

* * *

Taehyung eyed the sight in front of him with open disdain. 

There was something quite telling about the group of people that were gathered before him, and that was that behind _all_ the glamour, all of the good looks, jewelry and finery, they were all two-faced. Let it not be said that he didn't take the legacy of his family seriously, he did, and because of that he was inherently distrustful of all those that did not have a direct route to the throne, those that would rather spend their lives waiting for acres of relatives to die to even have a shot at it.

That was the reason why the sovereign tended to keep them at arm’s length, if they knew that little tidbit, he wasn't sure. 

He took another sip of his wine, and turned his gaze back onto them. 

That wasn't to say that all of them would foam at the mouth to oust him and his brother, some of them were quite loyal, or quite content with their status as a minor member of the family.

 _Others_ though, there were others that would cut off their right foot at the first opportunity to reap some sort of financial gain, and exploit the vacuum. 

They would cut their nose off to spite their face, they would rather the Empire be scattered, divided, and leaderless, and maybe that was what separated them from him and his brother. 

Maybe that was why he despised them. 

"His Royal Highness, _Seokjin_ , Prince of the Joseon." 

Taehyung's eyes drifted towards the giant door to the ballroom. 

And he didn't bother to hide the sneer that slowly curled onto the edges of his lips at the sight of his cousin.

Jimin held him in higher esteem, but not Taehyung, he would not grant him that mercy, and as much as the idea seemed ludicrous to both Jimin, and their grandfather, he would not abandon the idea that Seokjin was somehow involved in the murder of his parents.

There was no proof, there never had been, even when the idea occurred to his grandfather, if only for a moment, but he had never found proof, and the third in-line for the throne wasn't simply accused of murder without proof. 

So, the matter was settled. 

But he still mistrusted Seokjin, more deeply than all the other vultures in the room. 

"He's pretty," Jungkook leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

Taehyung did a double take, and looked back to his companion with a wry smile. 

"He is of the blood,  _dearest_ ," Taehyung teased and turned back to the sight. 

Indeed, Seokjin was famed for his beauty, as much as Jimin and himself were. 

Decked out in full-military dress, he bore the old-Imperial insignia of the Joseon Empire, an homage that was quite purposeful in the creation of the title in the first place, and to his left, his ever-dutiful equerry.

Taehyung's fingers curled tighter around the wineglass as he looked away, not wanting to grace his cousin's paramour with a look. 

All and all, Taehyung couldn't fault Seokjin, once he'd found the slightest bit of happiness, he grabbed onto it, and wouldn't let go. And unlike most of the family, he wouldn't judge his choice, in terms of the fabric of the man that made his lover. He couldn't judge Namjoon for being common, after all, his own choice wasn’t a high-born.

What he could fault Seokjin for was the fact that he was _married_.

His wife was a nice girl, dutiful, complacent, but perhaps a little too complacent.

Because this was the most important event of the year for a member of the Imperial Family, and while Seokjin and Namjoon were attending, obviously _together_ , his wife was nowhere to be seen. That only furthered Taehyung’s deep distrust of the man, to the point where he would trust just about everyone else in the room, over him

“And who is that with him?” Jungkook whispered in my ear.

“That is his equerry, Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung responded with a bit a smile. “His many duties include managing Seokjin’s schedule, running his household, and satisfying Seokjin in ways that his wife either _cannot, or will not_.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, and Taehyung nodded.

“And where is she?” Jungkook asked.

“Probably with _her_ boyfriend,” Taehyung replied, and turned back to the scene of the Prince of the Joseon greeting members of the family. “Not that I blame the girl, she must get so little satisfaction out of life, she has to seize it where she can, _I suppose_.”

As far as his interaction with the rest of the family went, Taehyung realized that his significant other’s experience was cloistered to himself and Jimin. He might have been involved in events like this in the past, but he’d been in the corner, on his guard. This was the first occasion where he was front and center, out in the middle of it all, in a place of honor at the side of the Prince-Imperial, a silent, but very _powerful_ gesture.

“Cousin Taehyung!” Seokjin suddenly shouted as he approached the dais.

In the middle of the Grand Imperial Ballroom, the central dais which contained the ceremonial throne of the Emperor, _and_ the Prince Imperial, stood out amongst the rabble on the floor. It was quite unprecedented for those that did not belong on the dais to approach it before the arrival of the Emperor, and even if _that_ didn’t strike him as much as the blunt fact that, again, he _loathed_ Seokjin, and he’d never made it a secret.

And as far as he knew, the feeling was entirely mutual.

Blinking slowly as his cousin climbed the steps, Namjoon following him one step behind, he _didn’t_ fail to note, he watched as the older man stopped, and kneeled before him. Every move was perfect, down to placing his hands on his knee, and the proper bowing of the head, Taehyung didn’t expect anything from less from his slippery cousin.

As he pulled himself back from his shock, his brow rose.

“ _Cousin_ Seokjin,” His voice was cool, his avoidance of his title all-too purposeful, he was beneath him after all, rank meant everything in this world. “I know you well enough to know that you are aware of tradition, and as much as I bare no ill-feelings towards your equerry, this dais may only be stood on by myself, The Emperor, members of our household, and tributaries. I know that Namjoon doesn’t find himself fitting any of those descriptions.”

He moved his eyes to the silent Namjoon.

The man _radiated_ hostility, in both his facial expression, and body language.

And though it struck him as odd that the man would look at him like that, seeing as they'd only met once or twice before, Taehyung didn’t hesitate to send enough of his own back.

“Will you remove yourself from the dais, Namjoon?” Taehyung raised a brow, and cocked his head. He wondered if he understood the delicate position that he was in. His little paramour might have been the third most powerful person in the Empire, but Seokjin was merely first among his many, _many_ equals.  “Or shall I have you removed?”

Taehyung was second only to the Emperor himself, and answerable _only_ to him.

Namjoon, after what seemed only a moment hesitation, bowed at the head, without a word, and stepped back. Taehyung made sure to focus his glare evenly on the commoner until he was fully off the dais, and it was only after  that when he turned to Seokjin.

The Prince of the Joseon was enraged, his nostrils flared, and hate flourished in his eyes, but it lasted for a moment, _only_ for a moment, and Taehyung assumed that _he_ was the sole person that Seokjin allowed his true feelings to be shown.

“Your Imperial Highness,” To anyone else, his tone might have sounded respectful.

But Taehyung knew that it was tight, forced, and utterly fabricated.

Taehyung smiled.

There was a part of him that happy to indulge in a little pettiness with them.

All his life, he knew that he was going to be forced to play second to his big brother, and apart from some attention issues from their parents, that had never really bothered him. From the moment he entered this world, they all knew that Jimin was destined to sit on the Infinite Throne, but it was far from a foregone conclusion that he would have to. That had allowed him to develop interests outside of being royal, and he knew that some of his lessor relatives had always envied him for his unique position.

“He’s here.” Jungkook whispered into his ear, breaking the confrontation.

The sound of the Imperial Herald slamming his cane against the floor, summoning all attention in the room onto him.

Taehyung merely spared his cousin one more glance before he turned his attention back to the room, and Seokjin, wisely did the same, while making his way back down the footsteps of the dais.

Taehyung set his sights on simply dressed Imperial Herald, his simple black uniform bearing nothing but a belt, and a silver-embossed symbol of the Imperial House.

He tapped his cane three more times on the floor, as per tradition, and even this drew Taehyung out of his throne, again – as per tradition.

_“All Hail his most Imperial Majesty, Overlord of China and Japan, Emperor of the Joseon, and Ruler of the Earth, All Hail Park Jimin, Emperor of the Infinite Empire!”_

Taehyung inwardly rolled his eyes.

But bowed nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support that this story has gotten so far! It means a lot, and I'm looking forward to seeing all of the places this is going! 
> 
> As for this entry, I wrote, and rewrote it several times, never really satisfied with it until I got to this version. I wanted to take a more teasing line to this chapter, though the next one will get more serious. Next up, we'll explore Jin and Namjoon's relationship a little bit more, Yoongi and Jimin get closer, and more Taekook fluffyness ahead, and maybe a little plot. 
> 
> ~~ Till next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Jung Hoseok: Director of the Praetorian Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe that this is the longest chapter :D

* * *

The Infinite Empire, by virtue of its very name, cannot fail. 

* * *

 

**Chapter 3**

He knew what they called him.

_The Smiling Terror._

Jung Hoseok wore the little nickname that the rank and file had for him as some twisted badge of honor. Aside from the fact that it was a perfectly _true_ , what was so terrible about it? It was a perfectly warranted moniker for him to have, if you asked _him_ about it anyway.

Smiling was crucial, it naturally heightened the mood on any occasion.

For the kind of work that he did, a smile was almost a requirement.

If he didn’t wear one, the work became tedious, tiresome, _boring_.

Hoseok wanted to avoid complacency at all costs.

Because if there was one thing that he truly loved in the world, if there was one thing he _loved_ , aside from the security and order of the Empire, it was his job.

There were always new ways of extracting information from people, just waiting there, waiting to fall into his hands. He considered it something of a hobby to go out and discover them. The methods that he discovered would go on to secure the Empire for decades, that was his contribution, and perhaps that, in itself, was why he loved his job. 

That was the charge of the Praetorian Guard, to seek out and identify _any_ danger to the Empire. Once they were properly known to the Guard itself, it was his charge to uncover the full length and breadth of the security threat; to uncover _all_ of its aspects.

And then deal with it.

_Quietly_.

In the early days, the mission was still the same, save for the code of silence.

In those days, the Guard was ruthless in tracking down the opponents of the Empire and destroying _all_ vestiges of them. Even in the four and a half centuries since the founding of the Praetorian Guard, the reputation that they had built in the Wars of Consolidation was still legendary, and it was still as fresh as if it had happened the day before yesterday. 

Hoseok longed for those days.

At least a part of him did.

There was another part of him that thrived off of the cloak and dagger routine of his agency and their operations. It played to the side of him that was amused by outmaneuvering his enemies, and for the position that he enjoyed in life, he didn’t lack for _them_.

The guard had an extensive network that spanned the entirety of the globe, delicately crafted over the centuries. He loved knowing that the enemies of the Empire knew that it was there. What he especially enjoyed knowing was that there was nothing that they could do to disrupt it, the network was far too entrenched to be destroyed. It was as strong as the bedrock of the Earth, it was, for all intents and purposes, a _part_ of the bedrock.

It gave him an indescribable rush to know that there was very little in the world that he did not have direct knowledge of beforehand. The network had allowed him to stay one step ahead of his enemies, and that was far more crucial than anything else.

Most of all, he enjoyed that at any given moment, he could order the life of _anyone_ snuffed out.

There were only two people alive that were safe from his wrath.

_Two people_ , on a planet that contained seven billion, only those two could safely command him without worry.

And as Hoseok watched them receive the seemingly _endless_ stream of loyalty oaths, he was careful to thoroughly scan each that came before their anointed dais.

Secure in the second-floor balcony that overlooked the ground level, his fingers tapped against the marble balustrade as he began to formulate various plans in his mind.

As of yet, he was not aware of any explicit threat against his new Emperor, not from overseas, and certainly not from any domestic source, but that certainly didn’t mean that there wasn’t one brewing.

There were always threats.

Threats lurked around every corner, even if they had to be invented and drawn out by fictional ones, there were always there, waiting to be brought into the light.

It was his specialty.

That was why he was the youngest leader of the Praetorian Guard in history. 

His predecessor had found himself in the center of an intense treason scandal, and the subsequent investigation was one that Hoseok himself was all too happy to lead.

When the dust settled, his mentor was arrested, and Hoseok had him shipped off to a classified black site, located on an oil-rig in the middle of the South China Sea. He could still remember the day he read out the sentence, he could still see the look on the other man’s face as he read out the judgement, the look of complete and utter hatred. 

Hoseok had specifically ordered that he live, for his years of service.

He did not, however, give the order that he should be made comfortable.

To do so would be sloppy.

Taking a sip of his champagne, the thought of the old man made a thin _smile_ slide onto his face, and he made a mental note to check in on the status of his mentor.

His eyes drifted away from the minor nobles kneeling at the foot of the throne, and they strayed up to the dais.

Hoseok knew well enough to know that if there was a person that he was supposed to be inherently loyal to, with almost sycophantic devotion, it was his new Emperor.

Under normal circumstances, he might have resented it.

He might have, had Jimin proven to be anything less than what he was.

Underneath that façade lurked the mind of a skilled, ruthless, and utterly relentless ruler. Within the mind of his new Emperor lurked a killer, and Hoseok found that even _he_ had to step back and admire that kind of drive, to bend the knee to it.

After all, if the guard had one true master, it was the Lord of the Infinite.

Hoseok smile morphed into a smirk as he moved his eyes left.

Prince Taehyung was very much in the same vein as his brother, though Hoseok would wager that he would have a heavier hand than even Jimin did, when it came right down to it. 

Either approach suited his purposes, though he preferred Jimin’s subtly.

His past with the Emperor was complicated, to say the least.

And on a personal level, he didn’t think that he disliked Prince Taehyung. Both of them, at the core of their beings, exemplified all of the greatest traits of their storied ancestors.

Besides, it was his duty to protect the Empire, at any cost.

Despite the foolish notions that other people would try to believe, the Emperor and the Prince-Imperial embodied the state, they were the state, he protected them.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he was preparing to critically analyze the new tribute, he caught sight of a new face on the dais, someone of high prestige and honor, if he could take a guess.

Hoseok’s lips pursed.

A new name, a new face.

Those were not enough to hide from him.

A man of medium build, with sleek platinum-died hair, he wore a crisply pressed suit, and bore the trained gait of an ultra-disciplined solider.

Hoseok could spy that from a meter away.

That stolid type of training – _the subtle warrior._

His eyes drifted down to the nameless man’s lapel, and he noted the customary pin that was given to a graduate of one of the many Imperial Military Academies throughout the world.

And Hoseok noted that it wasn’t from any backwater either – the pin on his chest was set in pure gold.

That meant that the new member of the retinue was a graduate of the Imperial Military Academy in Seoul.

He was good.

The academy of the capital simply didn’t let you through the doors if you _weren’t_ good enough.

His lips pursed even tighter if that were possible.

Setting his glass down onto the balustrade, he motioned over his shoulder with a single finger to one of the seven men standing behind him. Without turning back to them, he knew that they were in rapt attention to his every command.

His seven station chiefs were professional and attentive to a fault. Dispersed throughout the world, each of them ran their own operations on the world’s continents, and acted according to his will, and by extension, that of the Emperor.

Handpicked, Hoseok fully expected one of them to grow brave enough one day to mount a real challenge to him. Perhaps on that day, they would succeed in doing it. 

He would be disappointed if they never tried.

But that day wasn’t even relativity soon, and they _all_ knew it too.

“Sir?” The one parked closest to him stepped forward.

Hoseok’s direct left hand, Mark Tuan, Station Chief of the Americas.

Of all of his direct underlings, Hoseok would expect any challenge to his authority to be mounted from the mind of Mark. Every time he interacted with him, Hoseok could see more and more of himself coming out in him – which exhilarated him to no end.

“There’s a new face on the dais,” Hoseok almost purred. “If one of you gentleman would be so kind as to procure me a name, and a story, to go along with that face?”

They would complete their task.

Hoseok had done his best to stay out of his master’s personal affairs. If people really understood the depth of the Emperor’s cunning, they would _understand_ that distance.

But there were some things that he had to meddle in, to keep the Imperial Guard in check was one of those instances.

And unless Jimin commanded him to do otherwise…

“It will be done,” Mark replied.

“Yes, I have no doubt that it will be.” Hoseok purred.

Oh yes, there was _nowhere_ to hide from him.

* * *

 

Taehyung held his empty wine glass out wordlessly for his servant to refill and smiled gratefully at her when she filled it up. He was Prince-Imperial, if he wanted to start drinking early in the day, he was perfectly entitled, and no one, save for Jimin, could bat an eye at him.

“I know that this is my first tribute out on the floor,” Jungkook murmured from beside him. “But if Jimin is out mingling with the other members of your family, why aren’t you?”

Taehyung continued to sip at his wine, and then looked up to his paramour with a crooked smile, “Because, save for my grandfather and Chim-Chim, I loathe _all_ of them.”

And his grandfather was now dead.

As far as he was concerned, Jimin was the only family that he had left.

“Grandpa is dead, Jimin and I have rarely been apart since the day I was born, and all of them have given their tribute,” He turned back to the crowd. “That’s the reason.”

It was hard for someone outside of the fold to understand the internal dynamic with which the family operated. He supposed that Jungkook would understand if he had to deal with the nonsense that his family had foisted on him. A tamer answer would be that Jungkook simply did not understand what it meant to be the brother of the Emperor.

From the moment he came into the world, he was second.

He would always be second.

To always have hordes of relatives currying favor with him, with the sole intent of gathering favor with his brother, it was tiresome to say the least.

When Jungkook clearly decided that it was best to let the matter drop, Taehyung lifted his gaze to the second level of the citadel. Arrayed around the entirety of the dome were seven distinct marble balconies. Dignitaries from all corners of the Empire, ministers, honored guests too low in ranking to be allowed on the floor; they all watched from the spectator’s seats. Taehyung envied them in a way, for their immense freedom.

They watched as if it were a religious ceremony.

And perhaps it was.

The idea that the ground floor was forbidden to commoners, or those not in direct service to the Imperial Family, had served to create an image of mysticism.

“He’s watching you.” Jungkook murmured.

Taehyung turned his gaze from the balconies.

“Who?” He raised a brow.

Jungkook was looking up at one of the balconies, and following his line of sight, his eyes journeyed through the series of them until he realized just _who_ was looking at him.

Jung Hoseok.

Anyone else might have been terrified of him, but Taehyung wasn’t one of them.

Maybe his lack of fear over someone that should be rightly feared was based on the fact that he was of higher rank. His brother adored the man, so even if he was annoyed with the head of the Praetorian Guard, he wouldn’t dare to attempt remove him.

In the immediate aftermath of their parent’s murder, their grandfather had brought to bare the entire security apparatus of the Empire on them. Jung Hoseok had been the young Praetorian officer that had been assigned to him during the long investigation.

Taehyung was sure that his brother had taken Hoseok as a lover.

There had been no reasonable explanation as to why the direct heir to the Infinite Throne would champion the rise of a relatively obscure member of the Praetorian Guard, who only began to rise in the aftermath of meeting the Prince-Imperial. It was the only reason why he could rationalize that agent being the head of the Guard now.

“Who is he?” Jungkook asked.

Taehyung smiled briefly at Hoseok, and when the other man returned his smile, he moved his gaze back to Jungkook.

“That would be Jung Hoseok,” Taehyung answered easily. “Praetorian Guard.”

It was almost comical, the look that came over his face at the full introduction of the man. He knew for a fact that Hoseok preferred to be known for his reputation, rather than his face. He had always stayed to the shadows, preferring to attack from the back.

Which only lent credence to the theory that Jimin had been his lover.

“The Smiling Terror?” Jungkook breathed in wonder.

The accentuation of his two front teeth made him look impossibly endearing.

“I believe that is something he’s known by,” Taehyung mused. “He’s harmless though Kookie, I wouldn’t worry.”

Taehyung knew that the statement was patently false, but perhaps Jungkook believed it.

The truth was that Hoseok was perhaps the most dangerous man in the Empire, with his position being a blunt instrument of the Emperor. He knew his brother had a darker side to him, but he would wager that wielding Hoseok as a weapon came hand in hand with Hoseok wielding Jimin to bend to his will.

“He once came to the Academy in Seoul,” Jungkook recounted softly, and Taehyung found himself unable to turn away. “He arrested the commandant, black-bagged him. Rumor had it that he was evaced by chopper to a black-site in the night.”

Taehyung said nothing, and turned back to the milling crowd.

He knew that there were darker aspects to the family business, so to speak, but it was rare that he found himself confronted with it face to face. He wondered if he would have the strength to give those types of orders if he ever found himself on the throne.

“You’re mine, darling,” Taehyung said. “I wouldn’t worry about anything happening to you. Director Hoseok wouldn’t dare cross me, even if he is a Praetorian.”

And perhaps it was a threat that he would carry out if Hoseok ever dare threaten to take what was his.

Not that he would.

* * *

 

He was the center of the storm.

The political nexus of four billion people, Jimin understood that from the moment the oil touched his forehead, he would cease to be a person. It was strange to be considered an idea, rather than a person, but he had always known that it was his fate.

Deep down, he was always painfully aware of the fact that one way, or another, this was to be his lot in life. Granted, there had been a point in his life where he’d thought that it would some time before he was forced to become an idea.

But he always knew where this was going.

“As I was saying,” His first cousin, Princess Sojung, had been chatting with him quite animatedly since he’d made the real mistake of coming up to her and striking up a conversation with her. “The Foreign Minister is quite enthusiastic at the prospect of a state visit, I can also confirm that French President herself is excited for your answer.”

_This is my life_ , Jimin reflected balefully.

But outwardly, he smiled at his cousin and nodded, “I’ll relay my instructions in our next meeting. You inform your contacts within the embassy that I accept the invitation.”

Her eyes glittered with naked avarice.

It seemed to be a common trait of his relatives.

The constant need to feel relevant.

Needed.

If his grandfather was to be believed, that was the result of centuries of conditioning. The first of his ancestors to sit on the throne had kept his extended family at arm’s length, but never too far away, to keep them loyal.

To discourage rebellion, it was a necessary evil for him to endure.

“I’ll pass the word along,” She confirmed happily.

Jimin nodded, and as he was going to attempt to formulate an excuse to pry himself away from her attention, he felt a tap at his shoulder.

He turned his head, to find Yoongi waiting there. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

Jimin blinked, “Yes?”

“You have an urgent summons,” Yoongi replied.

His mind searched for the possibilities.

Jimin was the unquestioned master of an Empire that encompassed three quarters of the entire planet. In all honesty, to summon the Emperor of that Empire could mean many things.

And none of them were good.

He automatically discounted the idea that somewhere in the world, war was breaking out. The Imperial Military was unmatched in the world, and the nations not under the domain of the Empire simply did not have the strength to fight a war.

That didn’t mean that there wasn’t a terrorist group somewhere making trouble somewhere.

He’d given specific orders to be informed the very moment that one of the rebel groups decided to be bold enough to threaten him and undermine his family’s authority.

“Who is it?” He asked.

Princess Sojung had already dismissed herself from the conversation.

Good, it was simply above her paygrade to privy to those sorts of conversations.

“I’m not sure,” Yoongi replied and Jimin watched as the other man produced a solid black card in his right hand. “I was just given this, I was told you’d know what it meant.”

Jimin took the card from Yoongi’s hand, turned it over to inspect the backside, and _rolled his eyes._

He made sure that Yoongi saw the gesture.

“It isn’t urgent,” Jimin scoffed in derision, and he made a show of crumpling the card up. “It’s a part of a game being played by someone with a hell of a lot of nerve.”

Jimin let the crumpled card drop from his hand, and he made sure that when it hit the floor, the action wasn’t obscured. He knew that Hoseok was watching him, he knew that Hoseok had watched the entire encounter with the sharp interest of his.

Not that Jimin minded.

Or cared.

But his natural affinity for his rightful position made his tolerance _thin_.

“Sir?” Yoongi asked.

He fixed his bodyguard with a smile.

“It’s fine,” Jimin assured him. “We’ll deal with this.”

It wasn't that he regretted the past, that wasn’t the issue at all. Long had the members of his family did the things that they did together. What he regretted was the idea that somehow, Hoseok had the power that he had because they’d been lovers. It irked him to think that other man thought that he could get away with the things that he did because of it. Jimin had lobbied for him, pulled rank, because he felt that Hoseok was best for the job.

He was master, but his spymaster tended to act as if he were the true master.

Turning away from Yoongi to look up at the viewing balconies, he looked to the section that held the government officials. Much to his great annoyance, he didn’t find Hoseok on that balcony, where he was expected to be, but rather the one directly over the main entrance. That balcony was reserved for the family of the spouse of the sovereign.

The potential symbolism wasn’t lost on him.

Hoseok smiled down at him and _blew him a kiss_.

If Jimin could murder with his eyes, Hoseok would have been butchered then.

“Did he just blow you a kiss?”

Yoongi’s near astonished question almost made him laugh.

The only one that had any hint of the real truth behind their relationship was his brother. Even when Taehyung had put two and two together, Jimin had purposely hidden the truth from the Prince-Imperial. At the time, he’d rationalized keeping the secret from his brother out of the necessity to protect him if the future soured it. 

But as time passed, Jimin realized that it simply wasn’t anyone’s business.

He was going to be Emperor, he was Emperor _now_.

It didn’t matter if the head of his Praetorian Guard had been his first lover.

It didn’t mean that he was in love with the man, even though there was a time where he would characterize his relationship with Hoseok along those lines. The only thing that his past with the man got him was an inordinate amount of political capital with him to spend.

He would have eliminated Hoseok by now, if he were anyone else.

For his nerve, _alone_.

Jimin turned back to Yoongi, “I’ll explain later, just come with me."

* * *

 

He wanted to wretch.

These people were so blind to the world outside of their narrow point of view that they wouldn’t know what to do if they were forced out into it, if even for a single moment.

Namjoon could sorely imagine what that would be like.

The Infinite Empire, on its face, appeared to be the most prosperous society on the face of the Earth.

In some regard, that was true, but at the same time, it was a hollow image. The Empire was at once the most prosperous, yet the most inequitable society in history. An entire generation of people had been forced to the side, and underground. At the expense of the underclass, the Infinite Empire had built its flimsy edifice of superiority.

And in his dreams, Namjoon dreamed of bringing it down – down on all their heads.

In every major city of the Empire, there was a hidden underclass that struggled to survive, every day. Some were lucky enough to crawl out from underneath the wreckage, like himself, but most would never bask in the sunlight, to never know difficulties.

“You shouldn’t be so obvious,” Jin warned him.

They were alone.

Outside, on the balcony that ringed the citadel, Namjoon was brooding. Ever since escaping the low-grade nausea that Jin’s family members stirred within him, he’d been taking in the admittedly spectacular views of the Imperial Plaza, and that of the Imperial Palace that sat directly opposite the citadel on the other side.

It was all capped off by the _Centurion Fountain_ which sat in the center.

Having been built over three and a half centuries prior, it commemorated the hundredth year of the dominance of the Infinite Empire. All that would come to the throne would take great pains to preserve and maintain its ostentatious beauty. From what he understood, it was the largest fountain in the world, both in physical size, and the size of its stream; with more than a million people a year coming to stand before it.

The stream shot higher than the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

If he remembered his history correctly, the Emperor Haneul the Great, upon learning of the construction of the Eiffel Tower, purposely had the Centurion Fountain enlarged. One of the more amusing instances of Imperial pettiness in his opinion.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” He asked.

Jim smiled with that teasing smile of his, “Why would I?”

He finally turned his head, and after a moment of basking in the radiance of that smile, he let out a deep sigh, and turned back to the view.

“I can’t stand your family,” Truer words had never been spoken, even Jin didn’t know the full extent of just how true that was. “But I don’t want you to distance yourself from them because you feel you have to make me happy.”

The other man came to stand next to him, and mirrored his lean against the balcony, “I don’t like them anymore than you, but I wish you would just hide it better.”

Namjoon’s response was easy.

“I don’t like the way he spoke to you.”

That was true.

The way Prince Taehyung had spoken to Jin, as if he were less than human, it had been eating at him for hours, and even hours later, the anger was still burning in his stomach.

Prince Taehyung seemed to embody the indolence that had been the cause of the struggle of his early years. He wielded the privilege that came with his birth as a weapon to be casually swung at anyone that was unlucky enough to cross him. He hated him for it, he hated that he could get away with it without an iota of a consequence. He hated that sneer, and the casual way he'd thrown himself on his throne, holding his drink out to be filed. 

Deep down, though he wouldn’t voice it, he hated that he felt protective of Seokjin.

It meant that he’d allowed himself to be truly compromised, something that he’d promised wouldn’t happen.

“I wanted to deck him.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to get close enough,” Jin refuted.

Namjoon stamped down that oh-so _tempting_ urge to reveal the truth, to let it be known that at least once, he had gotten close enough to sent it all crumbling down on their heads.

But he resisted.

One day, he knew, he would not have the strength to ignore that urge, but hopefully when that day came, he would be in a position where he could talk about it.

“Maybe,” He turned to smile. “But my Prince would come and save me, right?”

When the time came, he hoped that the fallout would spare Jin.

He loved him, he hadn’t set out to, he had set out with the express intention of avoiding falling in love with him, but he had failed, and now he had to deal with the consequences of that. Seokjin, Prince of the Joseon, third in-line for the Infinite Throne, was perhaps the one redeeming member of the entire Imperial Family.

“I’d probably be in prison too,” Jin remarked.

He smiled, and Namjoon found himself returning that smile in earnest.

For all these years, he had put up with so much to be with Jin, and to accomplish his goals. He had risked everything he had to to come to Seoul. Jin had gotten to him, and the sad part was that he hadn’t even known.

Namjoon hoped that he understood when the day of reckoning came.

* * *

 

Jimin eyed the two guards standing before the door dubiously.

Objectively, he understood that Hoseok would never surround himself with people that would dare harm him. If they made power plays against Hoseok, Jimin hardly found it within himself to care, he knew that Hoseok had more than enough cunning, and ten times the strength of any given member of the Praetorian Guard.

“Your Majesty.” Yoongi cautioned. “I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

Jimin turned to him and smiled, “What did I tell you about titles? And I’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll just go in and speak to him alone for a moment, and then you can come in.”

Hoseok was loyal – he wouldn’t harm him.

“I’m perfectly safe,” Jimin attempted to pacify him again. “Just wait here, and when I’ve talked him down, I’ll call you.”

Yoongi still wasn’t convinced, he could tell as much.

But it was of no consequence, Jimin inwardly decided.

The Captain was still new to the ways of court, and for that, he’d allow the man to have a learning curve.

For now.

* * *

 

“I expect that the Princess Sojung has regaled you with her _fantasies_ of a diplomatic coup?” His voice was lulling, light, teasing, as if he were telling a joke.

When the other man had come into his life, Jimin had been on the edge of destruction. His parents were dead, and he was facing the prospect of losing the rest of his life in service to the crown. Hoseok had truly come along at a vulnerable moment.

He had awakened something in him, something that had never gone away.

Hoseok was a thrill and danger all rolled into one. He represented the one part of his life, at the time, that he seemed to be able to exercise any measure of control over. For three years, he had relished in the sort of freedom that he represented.

When it was over, it was over.

In hindsight, he should have made it clear to Hoseok that he hadn’t championed his rise out of some need to reward him. Jimin had championed him because he understood that Hoseok possessed the sort of personality that he wanted in the head of his Praetorian Guard.

Jimin, in a way, had come of age under Hoseok.

_Literally._

Jimin smirked at his own thought.

“I thought we agreed that you would stop watching over me?” Jimin’s own voice matched the teasing one that Hoseok was speaking in, thought it was a touch quieter.

Hoseok turned and smiled.

He wasn’t in love with Hosoek, not anymore. That didn’t mean that every time the other man looked at him he wasn’t reminded of how attracted he was to him in the past.

“It’s my job to keep you safe, _Princess_.” He replied.

Jimin fought down the flush that threatened to rise to his cheeks.

“Emperor,” He corrected gently.

Hoseok’s eyes lifted ever-so imperceptibly.

“Forgive me, _my Emperor_ ,” Hoseok adopted a formal tone, one with a sort of faux-sort chastisement. “Old habits die hard.”

“Such as spying on power hungry family members of mine?”

Hoseok smiled.

“I could never presume to tell you to do anything, _my Emperor_ ,” Hoseok was now mocking. “Of course, if you would have my consul, I would be happy to chat you up-…”

Jimin silence him with a look, and his smile grew.

“All right,” Hoseok nodded once, obviously pleased at being allowed to speak frankly on the matter. “You wonder if its safe to allow Princess Sojung leeway on this matter. You wonder if she’s aware that you favor your grandfather’s Foreign Minister, and you wonder why she wants the job.”

The Emperor pursed at his lips at the series of, correctly stated, guesses.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“Because we think alike, dearest,” Hoseok purred, and Jimin allowed himself a moment to blush at that. “And the answer to all your questions, save for the last one, is a resounding yes.”

“But there are two more questions that you have to ask yourself.” He stated, more than asked.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed as his mind raced to supply any sort of explanation for his spy master’s cryptic leading. He was used to it from Hoseok, after all these years.

He’d long understood that Hoseok was either manipulating him, or, as Jimin preferred to go with, forcing him to broaden his horizons. Jimin was fine with that, because he was free to cast a few manipulations of his own.

Hoseok was all too eager, sometimes gleefully, to do what most men would not be able to sleep at night after doing.

In fact, in some cases, the other man had wanted to fuck him for hours after a long day of striking terror into the heart of his enemies. Jimin knew, all too well, what he was capable of because of that. If he had to deal with Hoseok’s manipulations, to get the sort of order that he imposed on the enemies of the Empire, then he’d deal with it.

Hoseok, and his goals, were more often aligned with his anyway.

So, it worked out for all involved.

“The long-term scenarios, and the personal motivations,” Jimin answered.

Hoseok’s legendary smile show itself.

It was completely and utterly _predatory_.

“Correct,” Hoseok nodded. “President Duval’s zealous pursuit of friendship with _Her Highness_ is not without an ulterior motive.”  

Any real explanation that Jimin could summon seemed more preposterous than the other in the face of critical examination. The world was at peace, it continued to be at peace, thanks to the overwhelming might of the Imperial Military, and the ironclad terms of the peace treaty that had ended the second world war.

Entitled the _East-West Concordance_ , in the settlement, the nation states of North Africa were forced into a plebiscite. The question was simple: _to cede their nations to the domain and protection of the Infinite Empire_. Much to the dismay of the former allied powers, _all_ had agreed.

It particularly irked France.

For years, his great-grandfather and his grandfather were told how _evil_ they were, particularly by the French, for forcing the North Africans into voting for the trappings of absolute monarchy.

The logic was not lost on his predecessors, and in the wake of the war, they had taken great care to repair the former colonial territories of North Africa. On a sweeping platform of modernization, the North African Protectorate was slowly certified as Imperial.

In return for their loyalty, and their bountiful resources, Jimin’s family had eliminated poverty, war and ushered in political stability that simply hadn’t been there before.

By the barrel of a gun in some cases.

Of course, there were rebel elements.

One half was resentful of Imperial rule, wanting their long-elusive independence.  

The other wished for a return to European rule.

For the most part, the inhabitants of the protectorate were content, or even outright happy to serve.

And the French had never ceased to resent the coopting of their former colonies.

The consequences of violating the settlement that had ended the war were almost unfathomable. There were literally hundreds of reasons as to why the French would attempt such a thing, but the rational was _beyond_ him. Unless they knew something that he didn’t, unless Hoseok knew something that _he_ didn’t.

He fixed him with a look which asked that question.

“I know you rely on me to get you that information,” Hoseok said, and it said a lot that neither of them had to elaborate. “And I have _some_ idea as to why Princess Sojung is involved, but thus far, I can’t say that President Duval’s relentlessness has been explained.”

Jimin didn’t want to think of how this could affect his reign.

“What about the worst-case scenario?” Jimin asked.

War.

_All out war._

That was the direct result of breaking the East-West Concordance.

Hoseok blinked before looking down to the floor for a moment, as if pondering the thought, and then back up to him. “The thought has occurred to us, and we’re ready for it, should it happen. I’m told that the military has sixty divisions stationed, and ready to fight, throughout Egypt, Libya and Tunisia. They also plan to send another hundred to Morocco and Algeria, our intelligence suggests that if any European incursion were to occur, it would originate there. It’ll be under the pretext of fighting local terrorism, but-…”

“150,000 troops to fight local terrorism?” Jimin scoffed.

“Sometimes the best cover is a flimsy one," Hoseok elaborated. "They'll see right through it, and they'll be aware that we're watching them." 

But whatever brevity existed, quickly evaporated.

“And are _we_ secure on this side of the world?” Jimin almost whispered.

Hoseok looked at him strangely, but nodded, “The 501st Legion will conduct highly publicized missile defense tests, and its air and naval wings will begin battle drills in the Sea of Okhotsk. I have units in place to disseminate footage of it in the most effective ways, including in western parts of the Empire that are dealing with _rebellion_.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jimin pushed, and Hoseok grew silent as it clicked.

There was no power on Earth that would be foolish enough to attempt to conduct a military operation within Asia. The British has destroyed their fleet in the last attempt, having discovered the hard way that Asia was a fortress, and that the Infinite would not allow it to be taken.

But that wasn’t what he was referring to.

He was referring to bombs, terrorists, and their pesky habit of using them.

Hoseok understood.

“I’m not aware of any plot,” Hoseok assured him. “But I can assure you, I will uncover it, and I will crush it, if it exists.”

Jimin nodded.

And after a few moments, he took a deep breath in.

“I sense you’re not giving me the full story of this situation,” Jimin said. “You wouldn’t pick at me with something as insignificant as Sonjung's greed if you weren't convinced that it was leading to something more." 

The spymaster’s lip twitched. “I don’t do things by halves, you know this.”

“I’ll be the first you inform when you become fully informed?”

Hoseok bowed at the neck, “Naturally, my Emperor.”

“And now, you can ask your question,” Jimin turned to him and smiled slightly. “I haven’t forgotten how this work.”

Tit-for-tat, giving something to get something.

He knew that Hoseok wanted something.

“And you don’t get to touch my ass.” Jimin found himself saying before he could speak.

Hoseok chuckled, but shook his head, “That isn’t what I want.”

“So, what is?” Jimin asked

“…I want to know who the new member of your entourage is.” Hoseok answered.

The question surprised the Emperor, and not the question itself, in as much as the fact that it was Hoseok asking it. Jung Hoseok was the information master of the Infinite Empire, he was the most informed man on the entire planet. It was said that there was hardly a meal that a world leader could eat that he was not made aware of.

And yet.

Jimin looked at him, smiled, and turned back to the door.

“Send him in!” He raised his voice so that the guards could hear his voice.

In an instant, the door opened, and Captain Yoongi did not hesitate to stride into the room once he caught sight of the Emperor.

“Captain Min Yoongi,” Jimin held his hand out to said man. “Jung Hoseok, Director of the Praetorian Guard.”

He turned to Hoseok, “Director Hoseok, he is my new security attaché, he controls and directs the direct security of my person. In that regard, he assumes primacy over you, and _you_ will act according to _his_ commands.”

Hoseok narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

He knew that it would difficult for the other man to obey.

The Director of the Praetorian Guard was not accustomed to being subservient.

“He speaks and acts with my authority,” Jimin commanded, this time leaving no room for interpretation. “Am I clear, _Director_?”  

Hoseok’s eyes drifted to Yoongi’s face for a moment, before turning back to Jimin.

“Crystal.”

The word was dripping with veritable _venom_.

And he knew that whatever silent war that was being waged between the two men was hardly over.

But he had no time to end it.

Yet. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taehyung, Prince-Imperial, Lord of Seoul, Heir to the Infinite.

* * *

 

Power resided where men believed it resided -- and it was the very basis of their power to make men believe that it should only reside in them. That it was their sole right. That was the idea. 

* * *

 

**Chapter 4**

Taehyung had always bore his titles like an albatross.

There had been a time when he wanted to convince him to abdicate, to give all of it up and run off into the sunset with him. Taehyung had dismissed him, and his romantic suggestion. What his lover hadn’t understood at the time was that Jungkook was being serious when he suggested it, it had come from a real place from within him.

As much as he complained about the burden, it wasn’t until much later that Jungkook finally understood why he said no to it. With time, and patience, he came to accept that the vision of love he had within his head would never become a reality.

Because as much as he was Kim Taehyung, Tae – he was also something else.

He was an idea – much like Jimin, he was a walking idea.

He was _Taehyung, Prince-Imperial, Lord of Seoul, Heir to the Infinite._

Jungkook had the terrible misfortune of falling in love with someone that carried an abstraction on his shoulders. That abstraction unified most of the world, brought peace, stability and security to billions – and was apart of the process that secured it.

It was written into the very fabric of his being to give all of himself to the security and continuity of the idea that he represented with his very existence on Earth.

But there were times when Jungkook grew tired of it.

When his parents died, Taehyung had developed the toxic habit of being caught up in his own thoughts. Whether it was the intense insecurity that he bore when people compared him to his brother, or the raw anger when someone attempted to use him to get to Jimin, Taehyung tended to wrap them together in some twisted crown of thorns.

Jungkook stood a respectable distance back as Taehyung’s attendant slowly removed his regalia, piece by _agonizing_ piece. All the while, he kept his eyes on Tae’s face in the mirror, Jungkook knew that he was caught up in one of those vicious loops.

That vacant, _listless_ stare at his own reflection gave it away.

The worst part was that he knew could never pull Taehyung out of it – all he could hope to do was to catch the other man when he finally took his unavoidable fall.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Consular Jinsoo sounded beside himself.

Jungkook personally thought of the man as an enormous waste of space. The rotund, older man was dressed in the voluminous deep tyrian purple robes of his order, and every breath that he took seemed to take an enormous effort out of him. Charged with ensuring that the time-honored traditions of the Imperial Family _remained_ honored, Jungkook saw something of a contradiction in their mission when it was put into practice.

Because at the end of the day, Jimin and Taehyung could do what they wanted.

“His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, he will _not_ be pleased with you leaving the ceremony before him, I have to insist that you remain,” Jinsoo said it with such conviction, such _zeal_ , as if he thought that he’d be able to say it and remain unscathed.

The idiot.

Jungkook took a single step back and looked at Taehyung in the full mirror.

This was another reason why he knew that he would never be able to convince Taehyung to abdicate his title and pull himself out of a world of politics that he loathed.

Kim Taehyung wasn’t just a royal, not like his cousins.

He was of _Imperial_ Blood, of the direct line, down to his very core.

If nothing else, he simply didn’t know how to exist outside of his station in life.

Jinsoo’s impudence seemed to draw Taehyung out of whatever funk he was in, and Jungkook almost chuckled at the expression that ever so _slowly_ creeped up on his face. It was a pure, unadulterated disgust, disgust at Jinsoo for the nerve he’d shown.

Taehyung pivoted around on his feet, forcing the poor girl that had been removing a ruby chain from his robe to fall on her knees. The Prince didn’t spare her a glance, and even seemed to _grow_ in size and stature as he stared at Consular Jinsoo.

 “You _presume_ to order me around?” Taehyung’s voice had taken a low, _dangerous_ cadence. “You _know_ that you are walking a fine line by doing that, _Jinsoo_.”

As Prince-Imperial, he was first to all – save for one, his brother.

There was very _little_ that Taehyung could be forced to do, and of that exceptionally tiny list, only his brother had the power to order him around, _only_ Jimin.

Taehyung stepped forward.

He carried himself with such a pervasive, _imperious_ attitude that if Jungkook had any doubts, he knew in that moment that he could never give it up, he wouldn’t survive in a world where he couldn’t wield near absolute power.

As the consular babbled something of a hasty surrender, seeming to finally comprehend who he was speaking to, Taehyung stepped back to face the full mirror.

A look of a _rage_ painted on his beautiful face.

“Get out, _all of you_ ,” His eyes crossed over to meet the man’s in the mirror. “And if Jimin starts bitching _at all_ about it, you can tell him to kiss the fattest part of my ass.”

The attendant couldn’t have left faster, rapidly rising to her feet, clutching a ruby chain from Taehyung’s robe in her hand.

She left so fast that Jungkook noted that she forgot to bow.

And as the girl fled to the door, Taehyung whirled on Jinsoo.

“Are you deaf? I don’t need your help, and I _am_ leaving, so get out!”

Taehyung was screaming at this point – and it was all the invitation that Consular Jinsoo needed to follow the attendant. As he gave Taehyung a hasty bow, he turned on his heels and headed for the exit, his robes flaring around his legs in his quickness.

Jungkook knew that it was gamble not to follow the man.

Approaching Taehyung ever so slowly, he came to an abrupt halt as Taehyung delivered onto him a wordless glare that brokered _no_ confusion, or any argument.

He supposed that he should have felt better, knowing that he wasn’t getting screamed at by the other man – but he didn’t.

Raising his hands in surrender, he turned on his heels and followed Jinsoo.

The trouble with loving Taehyung, with wanting to care for him, and comfort him when he was depressed was that when he demanded something, he couldn’t be refused. The implication, the very idea made him worry for the future, for the Taehyung of ten or twenty years in the future, when the talk of duty would only get much louder.

Maybe he would let him in.

One could only hope.

But what he knew in the present was that when Taehyung, Prince-Imperial, was in the room, he couldn’t refuse the man.

Not as a Captain of His Majesty’s Imperial Guard, not as Jeon Jungkook, and certainly not as Jungkook, the paramour of the Prince.

And it hurt.

* * *

 

He’d had enough of the bullshit.

Pulling the oversized black sweater over his bare torso, Taehyung was at least pleased that it matched his mood.

He’d been fighting it all day, going so far as to unleash the ball of rage in his stomach on any poor fool that had dared to get in his way. He understood why people tended to see him as a stepping stone to the real source of power, or worse yet, saw through him, but it still did not make it any easier.

In a world where he had _no_ choice but to be the spare, Taehyung felt like he was drowning.

He wanted freedom, all he wanted was freedom.

Raising the hood, he took another moment to scrutinize his reflection.

It was easier to blend in, to hide, to fade into the background – a sensation that he had craved since the day his parents died. It was terrible, not wanting to be the person that you were – but all the same, it _was_ the source of the unrest deep inside.

Was he even a person?

What was a person but the sum of their experiences and memories?

By that narrow definition, he supposed that he wasn’t a person – or at least _much_ of a person. The more Taehyung thought on it though, the more he realized that he wouldn’t even know how to be a person if he was even given that option, good or bad.

That was a crushing weight on his chest.

Taehyung looked down to his feet, his body draped and hidden in the thick fabric, concealing every bit of himself, shutting himself off from the outside world.

He wanted to be a person.

He wanted to be free.

* * *

 

His eyes drifted up to the central observation balcony.

Jimin could see _nothing_ , but he half expected them to start shooting at each other. He knew it was a confrontation that was needed, and a confrontation that he needed to initiate. Even if he hadn’t been intimately aquatinted with Jung Hoseok, they would still need to meet. Hoseok was the most powerful civilian in the Empire, if he gave Yoongi enough power to match, _without_ telling him, Hoseok would be enraged.

His most powerful servants had to work their differences out on their own.

“Your Majesty?” Someone whispered into his ear from behind.

Jimin turned his head slightly. “Yes?”

“The Prince-Imperial’s motorcade has left the palace district.”

For a single moment, he allowed the shock to slip onto his face.

Knowing that he had eyes on him, he covered it as best as he could, and turned to give Taehyung’s ceremonial throne a look.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that it was empty.

Jimin tried his best to tamp down on the anger rising in his gut.

“Where is he going?” Jimin’s voice was so tight that it could snap with even the slightest bit of pressure.

He had enough to worry about without Taehyung’s tantrums, all they served to do was to rip his mind into yet another direction.

“All we are aware of is that they’re heading towards the airport.”

Jimin knew where they were going with that revelation.

He dismissed the servant with a gestured and turned his attention forward.

Jimin loved his little brother dearly, he always had, he was the only member of this family that he trusted with complete certainty. Since their grandfather died though, Taehyung had stubbornly refused to accept the role that fate had given both of them.

Almost as stubbornly as he’d refused to accept the death of their parents.

It had been fine when their grandfather had been alive, he had been willing to forgive him anything, as Jimin had been.

But things were different now.

Now it was time for them to rule, and Taehyung’s fits could do a lot more than give him headaches.

It could impede the reach and authority of his crown.

And Jimin wouldn’t tolerate that, not even from his baby brother.

His eyes began to shift around the crowd of his family, searching through the sea of beautiful faces, all the way through them until they decided to settle on Sojung.

Oh yes, there were plenty of things to worry about.

Taehyung would have to be dealt with, but to his credit, he was extracting himself to a place where he wouldn’t be in the way.

Jimin crossed his legs, curled his hands over the arms over the chair and leaned back into it.

He had to breathe.

* * *

 

“Tell me about yourself?"

He knew that it was a trap.

Yoongi understood that he was walking face first into the sort of thing that people like Jung Hoseok trafficked in. The fact that he knew it though, and the fact that he understood it, put him far ahead of anyone else that might have found themselves in his shoes.

“I’m nothing special.” Yoongi answered.

He stood at attention, hands folded behind his back – like a good solider.

“Oh, I doubt that you’re nothing special if you become the security attaché to the Emperor of the Infinite Empire,” Hoseok mused, and Yoongi eyed him carefully as the taller seemed to _stalk_ forward. “You know what they say about first impressions, so I’ll ask the question again: _I insist_.”

He understood why they were adversaries, on a superficial level.

But he doubted that he was prolific enough to earn the other man’s ire before their meeting. That only drove another question into his mind, and it was born out of the ill-concealed hatred that Hoseok was laying on him.

It could have been anything, it could have been because of his meteoric rise, but something told him that Hoseok wasn’t the type to become arbitrarily jealous over that.

But Yoongi wasn’t afraid of him – he did not fear Jung Hoseok.

“I’m sure that your servants will have every shred of information that there is on me soon enough,” Yoongi’s voice took on a purring quality of its own. “Rest assured, His Imperial Majesty is perfectly safe in my care, if that, of course, is your only concern.”

Then it dawned on him.

He’d hit a nerve.

Min Yoongi had shaken the unshakeable man.

Contrary to his terrifying nickname, his lips twitched downwards.

“Yes…” His eyes narrowed.

Yoongi could sense the tension in the room rising to sky high proportions as the silence, and seconds, continue to march on. By what force, he couldn’t see – not until the other man began to move. It was a movement of the arm that was so small that the layman might have viewed it as nothing more than a twitch.

But Yoongi knew.

Yoongi knew very well what was about to happen to him.

And even as the Director of the Praetorian Guard brought the barrel of a weapon to rest against his forehead, Yoongi’s own weapon was marshalled.

The two men were mirrored poses of each other, guns pressed to each other’s foreheads, the pressure in the room skyrocketing.

There was something unreadable in his eyes, not quite astonishment, and not even the anger that Yoongi half expected to see. Yoongi highly doubted that even he could instill fear in a man that was reputed to be so vicious that he was utterly fearless.

He didn’t even a proper word to describe what he saw there.

At first.

And the more they stood apart from each other, the more he began to get it.

It was approval.

It was begrudging approval, but Yoongi saw it now.

Pulling a gun on the most dangerous man in the Empire had earned him some twisted badge of approval – and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that fact.

 _Slowly_ , the other man lowered his gun.

“Interesting.”

Yoongi had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small note: 
> 
> This story is not complete, I changed the chapter scheme to make that clear, but all of this time I've been strolling along with it like that, so I changed it. There is a lot more to come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin had to choke down on a bit of laughter at the startling revelation that he supposed he had a certain type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things of note: 
> 
> I went back and forth with this entry. It originally written to be in the last chapter, but I decided to cut it out and make it into its own entry. At the time, it seemed to flow better, and I stand by that. That also part of the reason why this update came so quickly, I usually agonize over updates, but I had it ready. 
> 
> Incidentally, I cut about two portions out of this chapter too, so it's longer than the last entry, but not the longest so far. 
> 
> It's also been awhile since I've written graphic smut, so the last scene in this entry isn't terribly scandalous, but I still feel like I should warm some people that there is a small (poorly written, in my opinion) self-love scene. 
> 
> And this story is not over, it's long term, and it's my baby! So keep coming back if you like it! 
> 
>  
> 
> -Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

 

But power was fleeting, and easily undone. 

* * *

 

**Chapter 5**

Jimin smiled to himself.

Inwardly pleased with the fact that he was able to glide down the steps without falling, he had to keep a positive outlook on things. The court, his lower ranking servants, they weren’t aware of the fact that Jimin was spread too thin in his thinking.

The Emperor was supposed to handle tough situations.

Even as he offered his guards a salute and offered them a small wave of the hand in return, when, one-by-one, they bowed to him at the knee, Jimin was inwardly debating on what fire he needed to focus all of his efforts to put out first.

That was until he reached the bottom of the stone concourse.

Standing in front of his limousine, which was secured on all sides by the support vehicles of his motorcade, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi.

He was human, he could admit it to himself.

Even if it was his lot in life to operate under the notion that he was above such things, his hormones were the sole vice that he found he couldn’t exercise control over.

And in that moment, at a dead standstill, with nothing but the ceremonial guards at his back, he was struck by how _similar_ the two men were. Not just in their physical bearings, with their tight, lean muscles and trimly cut suits.

It was the all-around posture that they had. It told complete strangers that they were exceedingly dangerous men.

But that wasn’t the only thing that struck him as odd.

It was the apparent peace between them.

Breaking himself out of his stand still, Jimin moved closer, and the closer he got, the more he realized that the two really seemed to be at real peace with each other.

Even the bows that the two men gave him were utterly identical.

Jimin had to choke down on a bit of laughter at the startling revelation that he supposed he had a certain type. His former lover on the right had been nothing short of a port in the storm. He supposed that he had taken comfort in the protection that Hoseok offered. Jimin had needed it at that particularly vulnerable, and terrifying time.

Yoongi offered him something similar.

He wouldn’t deny that the silent man sparked a fire in the pit of his stomach that he knew very well to be arousal. Given the opportunity, he would be more than willing to have the man’s hands all over his body, in an unrelenting search for that high.

Having the two of them together was driving him towards clarity.

Jimin turned to Hoseok, “Director?”

The older man’s eyes turned to crescents as he smiled, “Your _Glorious_ Majesty.”

His lips pursed at the little pet name that the other man had for him. Hoseok was the sole person that he would tolerate it from, Hoseok was the only one who had the nerve.

“You aren’t shooting at Captain Yoongi, so I presume that all went well?”

His voice was racked with a subtle warning for the two men.

Hoseok might have known him as no other man had, and Yoongi might have been allowed liberties that only Hoseok had ever enjoyed, but he was still the master.

“Oh yes,” Hoseok nodded, turning to eye Yoongi. “We understand each other.”

From anyone else, such a statement might have been able to have been bought at face value, but he had learned a long time ago not to take anything that Hoseok said too literally.

A feeling of indignation rose up from within him.

As a matter of course, anything that the two men came to agree upon concerned him by default. All his life, he had been dealing with people that were under the impression that they knew what was best for him. Most of the time, that involved those that perceived themselves to be above him, smarter than him, and cleverer than him.

But Jimin swallowed it down and offered them a smile.

There would be a time to correct such behavior.

“Good,” Jimin nodded, and cocked his head slightly. “As for the matter that we were discussing earlier, I trust that you’ll have a full report for me as soon as possible?”

Sojung was the real threat.

Whatever iceberg that she was the tip of had to be dealt with first.

Hosoek offered him another bow, “Of course.”

Jimin regarded him with an air of skepticism, and without another, turned to his left to look at the silent Yoongi.

He fought down a shiver – he didn’t quite understand why when the other man looked at him he felt like he was being critically examined down to the core of his being. Jimin supposed that was another difference between them. Whereas Hoseok seemed to only be interested in him on a superficial level, he felt as if Yoongi would want to crack him open.

He felt as if Yoongi would want to utterly dominate him.

And he would let him do it too – if he asked.

“I’m ready to leave.” He told him.

Getting hot and bothered by a look – it was such a plebian thing.

The Emperor turned on his heel and stepped around the two men to the open door to his limousine.

Unease was not something that someone who held absolute power over their reality was supposed to feel.

But in that instant, Jimin did

* * *

 

Yoongi spared a glance at the gargantuan Centurion Fountain as the motorcade made a sharp turn around it, heading towards the Imperial Palace annex. Even through the eleven-inch-thick glass, he could faintly hear the cacophony of the sirens all around.

“Captain Yoongi?” Jimin asked from beside him.

The Emperor’s voice was lulling.

Yoongi turned to him, “Sir?”

“I can’t expect Director Hoseok to give me the details of your meeting,” He watched as the other man turned to him. “But I wonder if I can have you do it for me?”

He’d quickly come to learn that the very cadence with which Jung Hoseok spoke cast everything in an ominous light. Their meeting was hardly a prelude to danger, it was hardly a showdown, it had merely been a settling of the new reality between them.

Yoongi hedged his bets.

“If you answer a question of my own?” Yoongi asked.

The Emperor’s eyes glittered, and a small smirk crept onto his lips. “Yoongi, I think the longer you work for me, the more you’ll find that I’m hardly a shy person.”

Yoongi was reminded of the events earlier that morning in the robing room when he was getting fitted in all his regalia, and he quickly pushed the visions of Jimin’s supple thighs out of his mind. When he looked back to him, there was something in his eyes that told Yoongi that the other man knew exactly where his thoughts had strayed.

“Okay,” He turned away, and looked forward.

Under most circumstances, he found fear to be a useless emotion, and was usually got at brushing it aside. There was something about the question that was lodged in his mind that forced him to drudge up whatever bit of courage he could find.

“I got the impression that the Director was more jealous of me, than angry.”

He wouldn’t deny where his thoughts had strayed to at first.

It all came down to the old tales of Jimin’s family being blessed with looks that were so ethereal that they could bend entire societies to their merest whim. It wasn’t at all far-fetched to assume that Jimin had applied the same concept on a smaller scale.

Jimin was silent for another moment, and Yoongi couldn’t help but look over to him. He found the Emperor staring forward, his arms crossed over his chest, a pensive expression painted on his face, as if he was engaged in a fierce debate to answer it.

“I used to sleep with him,” He admitted after a few more moments of silence.

He sounded neither ashamed or afraid of admitting it.

It was merely a state of fact.

“Oh,” Yoongi simply stated.

“Now, I say used to, because once he was promoted, it became impractical for that to continue,” Jimin sounded amused with himself, and Yoongi watched as turned to grace him with one of those smiles. “That, and there had be a line drawn between our personal relationship and our public one.  My grandfather made him the most powerful low-born in the Empire, and granted I pushed for it, but later on I realized how bad it would look for the public to find out that I liked having his cock in my ass.”

Yoongi choked as _that_ image flashed in his mind.

And the more he thought about it, the faster his mind came to a halt.

“As for his jealousy,” He watched the smaller man’s eyes crinkle with more amusement. “It might come from the knowledge that he now knows my type. Which, incidentally, you fit to the letter – maybe he’s worried that he’s no longer my favorite.”

Years of conditioning hadn’t prepared him for that.

“I’m your type?” Yoongi raised a single brow.

The Emperor laughed, no – giggled at him, nodding and leaning back against the plush headrest of his seat.

With his messy hair, and oversized jacket, not to mention his small hands peaking out of the arms, he was hardly the picture of the most powerful man on the entire planet.

_Overlord of Japan and China – Emperor of the Joseon – Emperor of the Infinite._

Such grand, _austere_ titles forged by warriors, and battled hardened medieval autocrats had all landed on the shoulders of a man that Yoongi wanted to squeeze.

“You most certainly are,” Jimin’s peels of laughter slowly dwindled down, but his eyes were still twinkling. “And you’d better be careful Yoongi, I have a bad habit of showering my favorites with gifts.”

He had to be better than his knee-jerk reaction.

The Emperor, Park Jimin, he was one of the most striking people that he’d ever met, if not the most striking.

In the light of day, it was hard for him to pretend that he didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards him. He was the Emperor, it simply wasn’t appropriate for him to think such things for someone at the very top of the socio-political heap in their society.

 But in such moments like the ones that they were having now, it was easy for him to pretend that they were two different people.

“Being in your presence is enough of a gift." 

Jimin laughed aloud. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Yoongi turned back.

“You still didn’t answer my question though.”

He hesitated and turned back to meet the Emperor’s expectant gaze.

* * *

 

_“I recognize all the hallmarks, but I must admit that I’ve never met one.”_

_Yoongi stowed his weapon and fixed Hoseok with a withering glare._

_For all the legendary foresight of the Praetorian Guard, although they were known to have their fingers in everything – their ignorance, and arrogance, it was stunning._

_The Special Services Division had been founded as the Military’s answer to the far reach of the members of the Praetorian Guard._

_He was not a spy, not like Hoseok, but was more than capable of it._

_Yoongi was an instrument, not a blunt instrument, but a fine-tuned one that could be brought to bare against anyone that his superiors deemed necessary._

_“Is it true, the extent of SSD training?” Hoseok asked._

_Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”_

_The SSD was classified. All knowledge of it from the general population had been suppressed by the high command.  Yoongi hadn’t even told Jungkook when he was drafted into it, he’d told him that he’d been moved to a post overseas. Jungkook was a good solider though, that was all he was – he believed in the integrity of the military._

_But somehow, it didn’t surprise him that Hoseok knew about it._

_“I understand,” Hoseok nodded congenially at him. “Need to know, and all that.”_

_Yoongi still said nothing._

_“And with your current posting, I sense that will work even more to your benefit,” Hoseok grinned at him. “You’ll find out what I mean later. I would advise you though to not let certain privileges that you’re going to enjoy go to your head.”_

* * *

 

In hindsight, he supposed that it should’ve been obvious.

He eyed Jimin carefully as the man absorbed the explanation. Of course, he’d carefully omitted the last part, it wasn’t needed – he’d gotten the gist of it of it all.

“I think he understands that I won’t cower to him.”

Jimin nodded absently. “That’ll earn his respect.”

“I think you’ll find that I don’t need him, or his respect, to keep you safe.” He turned to his window as the motorcade crossed underneath the central archway of the gate perimeter. “It makes things easier, and that’s the only reason why I’ll tolerate him.”

* * *

The words were still drifting in his mind hours later.

There was something so darkly possessive in them that it made his stomach clench _deliciously_.

Jimin’s hands drifted down the plane of his stomach.

Letting the warm water soothe his joints and caress his nerves, he understood that in the middle of what was the most important week of his life, he was wasting time.

He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts circle on Yoongi.

By the end of the week, he would be crowned in front of the entire Empire. The state coronation would be a long affair something clothed in some much tradition and sacrosanct heritage that it boggled his mind. For as long as he lived, there would never be another completely and utterly transformative week for him.

His hand skimmed down over his pubic bone, past his rapidly hardening cock, between the crease of his thigh and genitals.

All the while, his thoughts were becoming seeder.

Years prior, in moments like this, his imagination would’ve reverted to thoughts of wicked smiles, long fingers, and an entirely methodical ravishing. Much like the habits of his practical career, Jung Hoseok was someone who was pattern orientated in bed. 

Jimin gasped as he raised his hips up and breached himself with his fingers.

Biting his lower lip, with his right hand wrapped around his length, he began to stroke himself and grind himself back down on his left, his fingers brushing deliciously against that bundle of nerves.

Sparks flew as his hips began to piston on the source of friction.

Now, all he could envision was a head of blonde hair between his legs, sucking him down to the root.

He could imagine that same head of hair between his legs, wrecking him from the inside out with his tongue.

It had been a very long time since he’d been driven to such heights with anyone but Jung Hoseok’s name on his lips. Perhaps he would deny the speed with which he finished later, but Jimin found his mind reeling as he came so hard that his torso bowed up out of the water.

It would be the night that Min Yoongi had officially topped Jung Hoseok.

Jimin slowly extracted his fingers from himself and took a moment to catch his breath.

Covered in his own cum, sweating, and utterly lax, Jimin chortled between his gasps for breath, and leaned his head back against the edge of the bathtub.

He’d been right, Yoongi _was_ his type. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was not used to this – being told what to do. 
> 
> Worse yet, he was not used to the feeling of going with it. 
> 
> The feeling of wanting to submit. 
> 
> “Fine.” 
> 
> Fine.

* * *

 

Equally terrifying, the Ladies of the Infinite possessed the political will to knife any foe, and smile while doing it. 

* * *

 

**Chapter 6**

Seoul was easy enough to hide in.

Bastion of the Lords of the Infinite for centuries, the city had been shaped by their will since its founding. On its face, the city was everything anyone would want it to be, a large, _gleaming_ monument to everything that the Empire promised — wealth, affluence and security.

As the capital, it lived under the direct shadow of the Emperor and his court, and as such, most serious crime had been eradicated. It was true, for the most part, the citizens of the social, political, and economic nerve center of the Empire could live without fear of victimization.

There was an underside to the city though, one that law enforcement was more than aware existed. They were loathed to admit it though, save for the circumstances where they were forced to face it directly – and then they would crush it with an unrelenting tide of oppression.

With twenty million people calling Seoul home, it was only natural.

Namjoon liked to consider himself a part of it, it certainly was the stock that he came from. He had always found that life in the epicenter of the counterculture fit him to the letter, like a glove. Born and raised in a family of thinkers, he was brought up like so many of those around him were: _to question the way of things_. Kim Namjoon was taught to question all authority, he was taught to completely distrust any trapping of the so-called authority that the Empire wielded. 

He was also taught to adapt.

It might have repulsed him to adopt the mentality of a loyal citizen of the Empire — but he, like his parents, understood that to subvert, and eventually, _destroy_ the system, obedience was needed. Obedience in the form of belief in what it meant to be a loyal citizen. To that, Namjoon had always interpreted that as blindly following whoever sat on the throne.

The blind leading the blind.

Throughout his time in high society, that meaning had changed.

Namjoon nominally knew Jimin, he knew him passing. His loathing wasn’t placed in what he _personally_ knew of the man. It was more for the title that he held, for the idea that he represented. If one good egg had to be cracked to achieve the greater good, than he was willing to make that sacrifice. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that happened in pursuit of the goal.

As he proceeded down the street, he tried to reconcile the fact that he was being put in this position.

The go-word was something that everyone who thought like him dreamed of getting. Issued by the unit leader, it was the code word that would send all assets of the unity into position. That was under the assumption that all the units were in a proper position.

For Namjoon, it meant that he, _directly_ , was being called into service.

Throughout the entire history of their organization, no one had ever risen as high as he had. No one had ever gotten so close to the core membership of the Imperial Family. If the dream order, the go-word was finally being given, it was almost a given that he would be involved and critical.

As he neared the center of the street, and the club came into view — he took a steadying breath. The risk that was taken to give him the code word at the ceremony was enormous. Part of his mind still had trouble comprehending the fact that it was here.

 _The Stargazer_ was as nondescript a name as he could fathom, but Namjoon had always worried that it was too obvious. It was the set meeting point, if ever that word was given — the members of the unit were to meet at the club and receive their orders from the leader.

As he took another breath — he hoped that they hadn’t spoiled everything, because the difference between success and failure in this circumstance was indeed life and death.

* * *

Sojung had worn many masks in her life. It had seemed that he’d known her his entire life, and throughout that time, he’d seen her adapt her very personality to whoever her audience was. The addition of the woman to the unit was a novelty, but the deception that the Princess carried out hadn’t earned her any friends.

Which was why Namjoon was irate when he’d received the code word.

Standing in the doorway of the small room, he tried to ready his brain in an attempt to decipher what he was seeing.

While the unit rarely enjoyed contact with each other, he knew it was comprised of dozens of members.

But only Sojung was present.

Dressed in form fitting blue-jeans and a brown leather jacket, her long, angular face bore a smile. With her brown hair tied back into a tight bun, she hardly looked like the portrait of a Princess of the Infinite Empire.

But then again, her true self rarely met that qualification — it was merely an accident at birth that she possessed such a title.

“Joonie,” She beamed.

Namjoon scowled, “Your Royal Highness.”

Sojung scoffed and waved him towards the table she sat at, “None of that, we leave our titles at the door.”

“Then what good are you?” He asked.

Her laugh was a tinkling, light sound — and it sounded patently _false_ to him. “We both know that you wouldn’t enjoy the position that you currently occupy without me.”

Namjoon preferred not to dwell on such technicalities.

Displeased expression firmly painted on his face, he bowed his head and proceed to the small table she sat at.

“The risk you took, passing me the word at the ceremony,” Namjoon groused. “It must mean you’re ready?”

She was _normally_ deviousness incarnate, but there was something in her expression that reminded him of a cat that swallowed the canary.

“Everything is ready,” She answered.

Namjoon raised a brow. “ _Is that so_? Because the last time I checked, Jimin is quite secure on his throne.”

“Jimin thinks he’s secure,” Sojung mused in that _insufferably_ smug tone that she’d perfected over the years. “He also has surrounded himself with people that think they’re much smarter than they actually are. That doesn’t concern you though, all you need to do is report.”

Seokjin was crucial to all of it.

He wouldn’t be truthful if he’d said that he hadn’t attempted to sway Seokjin into their way of thinking. The task itself was daunting, and while he had, over the years, swayed his thinking towards being more sympathetic towards democracy, that did not mean that he’d turned Seokjin.

The fact of the matter was that Seokjin was _every_ bit a member of the Imperial Family that his cousins were.

They couldn’t all be like Sojung, and even Namjoon couldn’t say that the elder woman was fully in it for the cause.

The plan, as far as he knew it, ended up with a sympathetic Seokjin as the face of their movement.

That was the idea.

Taking a seat across from her, he nodded. “I believe he is, very much so.”

Sojung leveled him with a look that scrutinized him down to his very core.

“Are you being truthful with me?”

“ _Are you_?” Namjoon shot back.

The two became locked into an unmistakably tense stare-off.

Namjoon vaguely remembered that they had the same goals. Cutting out motivations, they both wanted to see change come to their society. They wanted the same end-game.

It was Namjoon that took the initiative and broke away.

“He’ll be ready,” He relented.

Sojung smiled and nodded.

Somehow, he got the distinct impression that he’d just walked into a web.

* * *

She allowed herself to drift into her thoughts.

It had been years in the making – and it was so close to the end that she could taste it on her tongue. At the core, the Infinite was rotten, and she had always known that it would take someone with her mind to excise it. It wasn’t a simple matter of her loathing for her cousins, or for the fact that she could never inherit the throne because of what was between her legs.

Sojung _believed_ in the Infinite.

She believed in the supremacy of the Empire that her family had spent centuries building.

It was the greatest political creation that mankind could ever fathom, and the political hegemony that it had cast over the world could only drive the world towards the inevitable conclusion: unity, peace and prosperity. What had held it back had been the cause of many failures of humanity, _men_ – men who thought with their dicks and played with them too much.

So, it occurred to her one day to think like they did.

And she set in motion a series of events that would culminate in her goals.

It was merely a coincidence that she would drag others along for the ride.

When the dust settled, she would deal with those that thought that she could be manipulated into destroying her family’s greatest creation. When she was Empress, she would make them all see what she was capable of, and she would restore the Empire to its glory days.

“What did you think?” She asked him.

She’d felt him slip into the room only a few moments after Namjoon left it.  Sojung had gotten the distinct impression that Mark had been listening to the _entire_ exchange, she wouldn’t pretend to know how he operated, all she understood was that he was not to be trifled with, at all.

It was almost as if a shadow had passed over her.

“He knows nothing,” Mark hummed, and she turned her head to find the spy slide into the seat next to her. “Which is all the better for us, Seokjin is necessary to initiate changes.”

And if Seokjin was made aware, all their planning would amount to nothing.

“And Hoseok?” She asked.

She watched as a terrifying smile flitted over the man’s lips. It had long been said that Mark Tuan was a beast – his razor-sharp canines had earned him that nickname. Of all Jung Hoseok’s demented little creatures, Mark was the deadliest of the bunch, but he had his uses.

Jung Hoseok might have headed the Praetorian Guard.

But the Praetorian Guard belonged to the Imperial Family.

“Hobi sees so many enemies that he doesn’t stop to look for his friends,” Mark looked positively beside himself with glee. “I’m counting on that as leverage, and I assure you, it’ll work.”

“And your _insurance_?” Her question was light.

Both had been careful to never name names. 

Mark’s smile turned into a frown and reached up to run a hand through his blonde hair.

“I’m working on it.”

She didn’t like to hear that.

“Will you be ready in time?” She asked.

Mark nodded, “Have I ever disappointed you?”

 _There was a first time for everything_ – but she withheld that from him.

Sojung would teach this one a hard lesson when all was said and done.

* * *

Kim Junhoe wasn’t sure what to do.

It was his first deployment, and it was a well-emphasized fact in basic training that any new guardsman would see things that shocked them from the people that they swore their lives to protect. He accepted that as a fact of life, it was something that all who aspired to become a member of the Imperial Guard had to accept, it was written into the very foundation of the guard.

But what he saw before him was truly something else.

It was his first direct interaction with a member of the Imperial Family since being assigned to the Winter Palace detachment. Though Prince Taehyung had visited his graduating class, and inspected them, this was his first, _real_ taste of what it would be like to be around him.

And as far as he knew, this was his normal routine.

There were countless rumors about the Prince, and by extension, his brother, The Emperor, that would feed into what he was seeing. As much as he was rather reluctant to admit it, and as much as he would never put it into actual words, the behavior fit his profile exactly.

Prince-Imperial Taehyung was doing his morning regimen of yoga, something that he had been told in advance to expect from the man whenever he came to stay at the Winter Palace.

It wasn’t the yoga, though, that had captured Junhoe’s attention.

It was the fact that Taehyung, Prince-Imperial, was performing the regimen without so much as a shred of clothing on his lithe body. It was also the fact that each pose he assumed seemed to grow in its explicit eroticism, and each seemed to expose more and more of his body.

Yes, completely and utterly naked.

By his count, it had been an hour since he assumed his post on the entrance to the Grand Portico. The portico itself overlooked the main courtyard of the massive palace complex and provided a stunning view of the solid green mountains that surrounded the grounds on all sides.

Taehyung had gone through the litany, all on his mat, all for Junhoe’s gaze.

He was comfortable with himself.

If someone was attractive to him, he was more than willing to admit such a thing. Prince Taehyung, on the other, he was, by all rights, one of a handful of people that he should never harbor such feelings for. To develop such an attachment to a royal, to the heir, it was impractical at best – and it its very worst, it could be fatal – though that was more confined to another age.

It didn’t matter how attractive he was – how sinfully the other man arched his back.

He couldn’t do a damned thing about it, no matter how supple a backside he had.

Taehyung was the heir, he was the second most powerful human being alive. It was probably a testament to how jaded he was by how fucking unaffected the other man seemed.

Or he didn’t care.

But there was also that traitorous little voice in the back of his mind.

When the Prince transitioned from his tree pose, he had sunk down on all fours, and assumed a position that had to be far too mind-numbing to be true. With all of that, he was sure that his hips, his ass, that the entirety of his body, from the waist down, wasn’t supposed to go that high. Junhoe would be the first to admit that he didn’t know a thing about yoga, but he if could only take one guess, if he could bet on one thing, he’d bet that the Prince was just like that.

His legs were splayed far enough, just a fraction of an inch wider than he was sure absolutely necessary, exposing his cock, his balls – even the tight, pink, hairless hole between his cheeks. The Prince’s upper-torso, at one point, and pressed down into the mat, proving his point.

But what was he to make of that?

The rumors that surrounded him included the assertion that the Prince was a man-eater.

That the Prince-Imperial and the Emperor were man-eaters, taking anyone that they wanted, and not being afraid of using their physical attributes to draw anyone of their choosing.

As far as he knew, this was something that countless members of the Imperial guard dealt with on a daily basis, he wondered if it was a challenge that they had faced on their first tours. He certainly wasn’t going to set a precedent of taking the plunge and actually touching.

Though he doubted that he could resist if asked.

To do otherwise would invite the possibility of being expelled from his position in the guard, and with all the work that he’d put into getting it, he wasn’t prepared to take that risk.

He couldn’t go back to his hometown in such disgrace.

To his parents.

The sound of a throat clear made his spine stiffen.

Pushing himself into a crisp stance, he found that his attention was completely off the Prince. Junhoe knew who caught him without turning around, he knew who was standing there.

There were rumors about Captain Jungkook too.

Most of the guard were fairly convinced that the Prince and Captain Jungkook were involved, closer than the close friendship that they had claimed to share throughout their lives.

All were very careful not to vocalize it, and if they had to, not in public.

They were sleeping together, they were romantically involved. At some point, things that were, on their face, only rumors, ceased to have the weight of a rumor, and took the weight of fact. There was no proof, but then again, there would probably be no room for any proof to leak.

Which spoke volumes about the power that Jungkook held.

Especially when Prince Taehyung was involved in matters.

“Guardsman Junhoe,” Jungkook’s voice was sharp, disappointing, yet, remarkably controlled – and even amused in a certain way. “I do understand, I understand that this is your first posting, and that there are very few people in the world that behave like him. I would, however, take the time to remind you of your training, namely the _nineteenth executive order_.”

Guardsman were to be seen – a guardsman was not meant to be heard.

Unless directly asked, the purpose of a member of the Imperial Guard was to unleash a psychological impact on all that would attempt to inflict harm upon the Emperor or their family.

They were not meant to be heard, or to be seen as intruding.

They were certainly not meant to ogle the perky backside of certain heirs of the throne.

“Executive Order 19-Alpha: All activities of the Imperial Family are to be treated with the utmost respect, privacy and discretion,” Junhoe repeated the order, he repeated it word-for-word, from memory. “Any violation of the order will be considered felonious and treated as so.”

Junhoe allowed himself to look at the now smirking Jungkook.

“Let that be a lesson to think over,” Jungkook ordered. “Dismissed.”

He’d always prided himself as someone who had the ability to listen, to take orders and to serve – that was why he had gone into the armed forces and jumped at the chance to enter the Imperial Guard. When Captain Jeon Jungkook gave an order, one was expected to obey it.

Besides that, he had other problems to attend to.

The erection he sported being at the very top of that list.

* * *

Jungkook was amused.

He was also flushed with arousal, anger, and a touch of jealous, but amusement certainly reigned dominate. There were some things that people had to accept in any given healthy relationship. Some people thought that it was a matter of comprise, but it was different for him.

It was a matter of acceptance.

Jungkook had to accept the fact that Prince-Imperial Taehyung had a quota of attention that he needed to fill. He tried not to think about it too much, but he strongly suspected that it had something to do with his family-induced inferiority complex.

He was a house cat in the truest sense of the word.

“Is he gone?” Taehyung asked over his shoulder.

Jungkook had been careful to lock the doors to the portico, and he was thankful that he did. Caught in the position he was in, if Jungkook had even lost a fraction of the self-control that he possessed, he might have dropped his pants.

And slide home.

But that self-control saved him from it again.

“Yes,” Jungkook’s eyes traced down the backs of Taehyung’s thighs. “Though I’m sure he’s leaving without an ounce of blood in his brain.”

He forced down the feeling of laughter as Taehyung wiggled his backside suggestively, but still didn’t pull himself out of the pose. Jungkook knew that the other man was showing off, he’d been in a relationship with Taehyung long enough to see him do his yoga.

Very rarely had he done it naked.

It was also uncommon for him to spread his legs so wide during an activity that wasn’t sexual in nature. The only time he’d ever seen Taehyung do so was when he was trying to sink further back onto his cock.

“Can you blame him?” Taehyung teased him.

Jungkook walked past him slowly, taking his time to reach out and deliver a hard smack onto Taehyung’s right ass cheek. The slight jiggle to the toned, tanned flesh was enough to make a stabbing feeling of arousal shoot through him, his cock even gave a distinctly interested twitch in his pants.

He sighed and pushed past his arousal, sitting down on the sunning chair that was next to the mat.

“I was gone for an hour,” Jungkook pointed out wryly.

Taehyung pulled himself up into a squatting position and turned to eye him critically. He knew the look that he was getting. It had something to do with a thought that he had only moments before, it had something to do with the fact that that Jungkook had been talking to _him_.

“You were talking to Jimin,” With a feline grace, he pulled himself up to his feet and put his hands on his hips. “Maybe the rumors about the two of you are true, I wouldn’t be shocked.”

He crossed his hands together in his lap and scowled up at him.

“Love, he is your brother, but he’s also the Emperor,” Jungkook’s voice was flat, and toneless. “And secondly, if I wanted to be topped from the bottom, I’d let you be in charge in bed.”

He couldn’t say that it was the first time that he’d gotten wind of the rumors that swirled around the Emperor and himself. He’d served Jimin as his security attaché for years – and they had grown up together, living in the public eye for so long, it was bound to happen.

But he had to admit that it was the first time that _Taehyung_ had mentioned it.

And he had to say that he was a little hurt by it – if only a little.

With a single hand perched on his right hip, Taehyung stepped around his mat, and pressed a free hand up to Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook let himself be pushed backwards, and he soon found himself with a lapful of a very happy, a very horny and very _affectionate_ Prince.

The younger man wrapped his arms around his neck – purring.

“Suck up all you want, it doesn’t mean I’m okay with you flashing that boy.”

No, he was jealous, not of young Kim Junhoe, not on a purely superficial level; but merely for the fact that he’d been there to witness Taehyung’s little _stunt_.

Taehyung continued to purr on under his ministrations, “Others can look, but…”

He felt the feeling well up within him, it was a pesky thing, one that he’d attempted to quash over the years with relentless abandon. Taehyung was an attractive man, he had men and women alike clamoring for his attention.

His two hands, which had been resting on Taehyung’s hips, slid forward.

Laying a possessive grip on both of his ass cheeks, he pressed him closer.

“I don’t like shit like that, I mean it,” He admitted quietly. “You’re mine.”

Even pressed against him, he could feel everything in the other’s body relax, as if those were the very words that he wanted to hear.

“I’m yours,” Taehyung whispered against him.

Jungkook help but smile.

“But I can’t help but notice that you haven’t told me what you two talked about for an hour.”

Jungkook pulled back, and met the stern look that Taehyung was now delivering upon him with one of his own.

* * *

Mornings were his.

Rightly, he understood that there was a school of thought that suggested that there was no time of his day that was personally his. He was the Emperor, he was the crown-head, he existed to embody the political abstraction that he would carry around with his name, not _just_ his name.

His day belonged to the people.

“Captain Yoongi and I are in complete agreement,” Hoseok said.

But visits from Hoseok first thing in the morning? That roused his curiosity.

His eyes skimmed down the meticulously complied report. It bore all the tell-tale signs of Jung Hoseok’s forethought, as well as the crisp three-headed phoenix sigil of the Praetorian Guard.

Surely, he wouldn’t have the nerve to recommend what he was recommending if he didn’t have some reason.

Jimin picked up his coffee mug and took a small sip of the rejuvenating beverage.

“Three days, and you two are already teaming up to piss me off.” 

“We have our reasons,” Yoongi groused from beside him.

He shot his new security attaché a withering expression as he flipped to the second page of the report. Word for word, he assimilated all the recommendations that the Praetorian Guard was making, that was _until_ he reached the final recommendation – the most audacious of them.

“You want to postpone the coronation for a _month_?!” Jimin hissed in outrage.   

He had to have a reason why, he had to have a security threat that was so incredibly enormous that he would risk setting a dangerous historical precedent for all his successors. 

Hoseok looked at him as if he’d read his mind.

Before he brought into words the question that was at the forefront of his mind, the Director of the Praetorian Guard handed him the red-colored dossier that he’d been sporting since he’d arrived. His foresight was something that had propelled him into his position.

It shouldn’t have shocked him.

Jimin rolled his eyes and tore the seal.

It could’ve been anything, Hoseok had access to almost all the tangible intelligence across the whole of the planet. Realistically, there could be _anything and everything_ in the folder.

What he removed from the dossier was a series of glossy photographs.

It didn’t entirely occur to him what he was looking at until he stared at the pictures for another tense set of protracted seconds.

 He wouldn’t dare attempt to question where the photographs were taken, what was in them was enough to overrule any sense of ethics that he might have had regarding the Praetorian Guard, and those members of his family.

In the grainy, black and white set of photographs were two sweaty, _naked_ women.

Grinding against each other on a set of black satin sheets, Jimin almost chuckled at the realization.

One of the women in the photo was his cousin, _Princess Sojung_.

That was something that he _didn’t_ see coming. He’d always been under the impression that she was a heterosexual.

That wasn’t what concerned him about it though.

Hoseok had a rather distressing habit of keeping him appraised of all the private lives of his outrageously licentious family members. There was rarely a circumstance where he found himself shocked by what they did – or by what they could do.

He truly didn’t care if she slept with women.

“Is that the French Ambassador?” Jimin shot Hoseok a disbelieving look as it occurred to him who his cousin’s bedmate was.

He didn’t even need to have it confirmed for him, and that only complicated matters ten-fold, and not just that – it added an entire layer of treasonous discourse.

The French Ambassador was a married woman, married to a _man_ – and he happened to know that she was the mother of two children. Whatever his utterly devious cousin had done to convince her to go this far, he figured that she must have been that good in bed, or she had something big on the Ambassador.

Or perhaps it was the worst-case scenario.

“I believe so, yes,” Hoseok hummed in affirmation. “This was taken two nights ago at the French Embassy, it was a joint exercise between the Praetorian Guard and the Imperial Guard.”

He made a motion at Yoongi with his freehand.

Perhaps he could understand it with that logic.

But it was still an affront to every single fiber in his body, every part of him that was taught to inherit the Infinite Throne.

“Perhaps not a full month,” Hoseok said. “But both your principle security service and your principle intelligence service are in complete agreement in this recommendation. I know you’re smart enough to listen to them. All the while, we’ll be working to diffuse the situation.”

There was a reason that the date of the public ceremony, very rarely, was cemented early on. Jimin wouldn’t be the first member of his family to face such a threat on what was, objectively, the most important day of his life.

The look that Hoseok gave him, and the accompanying look that Yoongi gave him, silenced whatever doubt he had on his mind.

“You will handle this?” Jimin questioned.

Both men nodded.

And as he was trained to retreat to pragmatism when all else failed, he sent a withering look to Hoseok as he offered him a pen.

He slipped the pictures back into the file and clicked the top of the pen before applying his signature to the bottom of the report and to the recommendation. 

“I trust that you’ll disseminate this to the right people?” Jimin asked as he handed him the report.

Hoseok smiled, that brilliant smile of his, and nodded.

“Of course,” Hoseok nodded. “Your will be done.”

* * *

He was a change of pace.

Yoongi was unlike anything that had ever entered his world, and he highly doubted that he would ever see anyone quite like him again. He was all at once frustratingly stoic, and indescribably passionate, and much to his annoyance – he could _never_ predict where it would go. 

He was a man of so little words that Jimin found himself hanging on every one.

It was all so infuriating.

Jimin would admit that he was respectful to the very definition of what he was ultimately expected from someone in his position. He certainly didn’t have the idea in his mind that he was permitted to take certain liberties, like Jungkook had done before him.

Like Hoseok had before Jungkook.

His new bodyguard was so unlike Hoseok in his private, day-to-day attitude.

The man simply didn’t say a word unless he was permitted to do so, and he couldn’t stand it.

He even stayed three steps behind, as protocol dictated.

It was something that Jimin had never enforced with Jungkook or Hoseok, and it was something that neither would’ve followed anyway.

Jimin stood in the center of the large, fortified room and watched as Yoongi silently inspected the walls, and the content of the walls.

Adorned with massive plasma screens, built side by side into the walls, in theory, if the city above were vaporized, or even somewhat compromised, he could run the government from there.

  In the center, a platform, a raised dais, contained a much more toned-down version of his throne.

In any emergency, he could dictate his orders, dictate the ebb and flow of events, and attempt to steer his Empire out of the situation. Jimin had taken a seat, and by the time his bodyguard had decided to finally speak with him, he’d taken a seat.

“This is the fallback position?”

His hands _curled_ around the arms of the ornate chair.

“Yes, if the palace is compromised,” Jimin nodded.

Yoongi hummed and stopped at the center plasma screen that was built directly in front of the throne.

The Emperor felt his annoyance flare.

He didn’t wish to rule from it, or even use it, but it was his and that was enough.

“You disapprove?” Jimin could hear the tartness of his own voice.

The truth was that he could run his Empire from anywhere in the world. The truth was that if things ever got so bad that he wasn’t safe in his own home, he wouldn’t retreat to a hole in the ground.

“Not necessarily,” Yoongi turned on his heels. “I would, however, like your permission to arrange an alternative evacuation route to the Winter Palace, I don’t put stock in bunkers.”

“There already is one,” Jimin dismissed him with a wave of the hand. 

“One that Jungkook designed,” Yoongi cast him a withering glare. “He’s my best friend, Your Majesty, but he believes in the antiquated idea that you and your brother are untouchable in this palace. I might be out of place, but even with the security grid, people can still get to you.”

Jimin knew that.

He didn’t expose his inner fears a lot, Taehyung did – and as far as he was concerned, his brother could be the designated basket-case for them both. He had to be the strong one, he had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. What he didn’t let slip very often was that he was just as fearful as Taehyung – and he longed for security, a feeling that had long eluded him.

“No one would dare do it here,” Jimin said.

“You don’t know that,” Yoongi countered just as quickly and just as smoothly. “There are traitors in your camp, in case you’ve forgotten our meeting with Director Hoseok. I can tell you that if they are traitors, no where is safe, and we need to take every single precaution.”

Jimin’s hands tightened around the arms of his chair.

He was not used to this – being told what to do.

Worse yet, he was not used to the feeling of going with it.

The feeling of wanting to submit.

“Fine.”

_Fine._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was in that moment that he was able to find his strength again, or a form of it. 
> 
> It was his world, it was his world to command, and all that his gaze fell upon was his to possess. The bedroom, the palace, the tanks and soldiers in the square, the city. 
> 
> It was all his. 
> 
> And so was Yoongi, for as long as he would have him.

* * *

It was the curse of absolute rulers, the tendency to be complacent. As children, they are taught to not fiddle while their city burns. 

But some lessons can be forgotten. 

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Their dynamic had changed in the last few days.

Jimin’s eyes drifted through the endless memos that had been placed in his daily brief folder. The cogs of government did not stop for him, and the way the government functioned adhered to the name of the form of government. He possessed absolute power, he was the final say – and he answered to no one, and no one would question it. The drawback was the very real fact that he had to sort through it all. 

All the while, he could feel Yoongi standing in the corner of the room.

_Watching him._

He was _always_ watching, he’d noticed it before – and for some reason that he couldn’t put his finger on, he was becoming more and more aware of his eyes on him.

It had happened two nights prior – when Yoongi had walked in on him in his bath.

He had never been shy, and he had never denied the fact that he was a sexual creature at the heart of the matter. His family was famed for their genetics, with various urbans legends, most of which were spread by them, saying that armies bowed to their beauty. Jimin knew that men were attracted to him, that women were attracted to him.

He couldn’t help that.

Jimin supposed that he’d made it hard on the other man because of the position that Yoongi had found him in. With his hand wrapped around his cock, a finger in his backside.

Even thinking about then made a small chuckle escape – but that didn’t stop the fact that he was reaching the point of no return on his patience.

As the amusement of the mental picture of Yoongi’s face quickly faded, Jimin set the pen in his hand down, and turned around on the swiveling chair that he sat at.

In the corner, stood Yoongi, hands clasped across his front.

“You _need_ to stop staring at me,” Jimin told him.

Yoongi didn’t quirk a smile, not even a twitch. “It’s my job to stare at you.”

“It’s your job to protect me,” He retorted. “It’s not your job to blend in with the furniture.”

It said quite a bit when Jimin considered the small twitch of Yoongi’s lips as an overwhelming victory. To get Yoongi to break that mask made Jimin feel as if he’d stormed across no-man’s land – dodging grenades and side-stepping landmines.

“I think I’d happen to make a good lampshade.”

Jimin blinked.

His jokes were something else, and each was as special as a present.

“It’s good to have an ideal version of yourself, but I don’t need a lampshade.”

They continued to stare at each other, until a near reluctant smile came up.

A stand of Yoongi’s blonde hair fell into his forehead as he moved his head, and let out a deep breath, relenting. “I suppose that I’m mulling over asking you a question.”

“Yes,” Jimin answered.

“Yes, what?” Yoongi replied.

“Yes, I’m happy to let you see me naked,” Jimin said. “But no touching, not yet.”

The older man was obviously unamused by his answer, but he made no move to rebuke him. Jimin noted that a light stain came across the tops of his cheekbones, and that pacified him as well as any banter possibly could.

“That wasn’t going to be my question.”

“No, but I’m just letting you know,” Jimin continued, face oh-so serious. "For future reference." 

“Jimin,” Yoongi shook his head.

It was his turn to smile at that, and he nodded. “Ask your question.”

“Have you ever thought of learning self-defense?”

The question through him for something of a loop.

There had been a time when he’d mulled it over – and there had been a time when he was so determined to do so that he wouldn’t let anyone stop him. It had taken the direct intervention of his grandfather to keep him from doing it, and Jimin stopped.

It was uncouth, it was beneath the pedestal that he sat on in life.

As Emperor, he was the commander in-chief of the military, he commanded the Praetorian Guard, he was protected by the Imperial Guard. His grandfather hadn’t simply seen the need to have him taught how to fight off an attacker or use a gun.

Jimin looked down to his lap for a moment, and then back up.

“There isn’t the need to.”

Jimin hated the look that Yoongi gave him at that.

“There will come a day when you need it,” Yoongi said.

“Where will you be?” Jimin asked.

Yoongi merely shook his head. “I will be by your side for as long as you let me, but you never know what’s going to happen in this world. You are the most powerful human being alive, there are a lot of people that would harm you. I don’t want to think about what someone would do to you if they killed me and got you in a room alone.”

It was a welling feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

But Jimin could still not put the feeling with his natural logic.

He was the Emperor of the Infinite Empire, he did not need that – but he did.

“I’ll think about it," Jimin promised him. "Let's just get through today." 

Yoongi nodded. 

It was all Jimin could promise, for now.

* * *

“It’s tradition.” Jimin chirped.

“It’s a Tuesday,” Yoongi told him.

Jimin had made it clear to him that he had big shoes to fill in the form his beloved grandfather. His grandfather, who had gone out of his way to revamp the way that people saw the monarchy. For most of his rule, he’d taken delight in the fact that he’d managed to turn the crown into a symbol of peace, harmony and a real, tangible happiness. Jimin might have had the suggestion made to him that if he, and all those that followed him, did not continue to do so – the monarchy would slide backwards.

So, there were parades.

His stomach turned. 

To make the people feel as if the Emperor was a heartfelt man.

“It’s a parade,” Jimin became short. “It’s Seoul, and it’s your job to protect me.”

As his mind went back to the conversation that they had earlier that morning, Yoongi swallowed down the irony, and bit his lip.

Clasping his hands together behind his back, he nodded.

“You’ll be letting them into the plaza?” Yoongi asked.

_That_ could be controlled.

He began to think of strategic positions to place planted officers and snipers.

The plaza could be controlled.

When he’d first heard what was going to occur, he felt the capillaries at the base of his skull tighten. There was much that could be said for the logic of government, or the lack there of, but he was never comfortable with the idea of this. The idea of parading around the most powerful man on the planet in such a public venue seemed ludicrous. It didn’t matter if it was Seoul, it didn’t matter how many times Jung Hoseok made his _vaunted_ claims of the capital city being a fortress, a city was not a fortress.

Seoul had too many people in it to ever be considered a fortress city.

Jimin smoothed down his coat.

“No,” He shook his head. “We’ll be going to them.”

Outside of the plaza.

_Yoongi’s headache returned._

“Your Majesty, I _have_ to object.”

Jimin shook his head and walked past him. “I don’t care.”

He found himself exhaling a little _too_ loudly, and Yoongi found himself under the direct firing line of a glare. There was no mistaking that no matter how relaxed the other man insisted on making their relationship – there were _some_ things that he couldn’t do.

And he had to remember who Jimin was.

Yoongi answered to Jimin, but Jimin was answerable to _no one_.

He fought down a glare of his own and lowered his head. “As you wish.”

Jimin kept his glare affixed for a moment longer before turning away.

* * *

 

It began as a low scream.

The striking juxtaposition of the crowd gathered almost rendered Yoongi blind to what was about to unfold. The avenue had witnessed some of the most iconic moments in imperial history. It had seen everything from victorious troops returning home from distant battlefields, to the grand, lavish coronation processions of all the emperors.

Death carriages, wedding parties, countless stories had been written on its path.

The main avenue, the grand avenue, still bore the trappings of classic imperial architecture. The order had been given long ago to maintain it but to never change it.

The world-famous avenue served as a perfect metaphor for the empire.

As the motorcade proceeded down the avenue at a snail’s pace, with Jimin standing out of the roof of the limousine waving graciously to his adoring subjects, Yoongi’s attention had been going back and forth to the grand gate that was ahead.

Sealing off all vehicle traffic into the plaza, it too had been built with classic-Joseon architecture, with the gate having barely changed in the hundreds of years since it was built. It had been preserved as it had been originally built, save for the _Latin_ inscription that had been added to the entrance only many, _many_ centuries later.

_Infinite Invictus_

_Infinite, unconquerable._

School aged children were taught that the addition was meant to honor the new western subjects of the Empire. The reality was that the intention of the addition to the gate was the _same_ intention expressed in the lofty titles that the ruler bore every day.

_We own you, we dominate you, you live, breathe and die at whatever graciousness that we can manage to find within ourselves._

On the other side of the grand gate, the palace district plaza.

With traffic restricted, and the whole of an entire military division prepared to protect the plaza at a moment’s notice, the confines were secure, perhaps the most secure.

He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better.

Because on the left side of the avenue, through the throngs of the tens of thousands of people that came to see Jimin, the screaming was becoming louder and _louder_.

His mind began to race, formulating a response as quickly as he could.

“Minjae,” Yoongi called to the agent beside him. “Weapons.”

If the limousine kept moving towards the gate, he could very well assume that Jimin’s security would be assured.

It was then that the _source_ of the commotion was revealed to him.

From behind a screaming, writing mass of people that were jumping out of the way, in a vain attempt to prevent from being mowed down – a van. A plain, white van that was one of the many millions that trekked across the streets of Seoul every day.

Yoongi had seen the same make of van more times than he could count.

In that moment though, it was a van that was tearing through the crowd of adoring subjects and heading straight towards the _nose_ of Jimin’s limousine.

_Shit._

“Arm yourselves,” He bellowed to his team as best he could.

He spared only a single glance to the top of the Emperor’s limousine. The car was a fortress in and of itself, explicitly designed to withstand most conventional attacks and even a lot of unconventional attacks, withstand them until aid could be rendered.

It was an enormous relief to find that Jimin had done the smart thing and sunk into the security of the limousine. The damned thing had been tested to withstand a rocket propelled grenade launched attack – he did rule most of the world after all.

Bringing his weapon up, the other members of the team began to fire at the van.

It was perfectly legal that any force could be used to protect the life of the Emperor, so any damage – and even by extension, bystanders, were of no concern. 

Yoongi gritted his teeth as the bullet riddled van contacted the front of the limousine, the impact causing it to stop and veer slightly to the right. If he remembered the specs on the vehicle correctly, the driver would be initiating the armament mode.

All semblance of being careful was tossed out of the window.

“Shoot to kill,” He ordered Minjae, who relayed the order through his mic.

It was an order that he would ordinarily prefer not to give. Yoongi would want to know who they were, but they had gotten close, far too close than what was considered tolerable. He would console himself with identifying the bodies after they were in the morgue.  

As soon as the masked men began to exit the van, Yoongi began to fire his weapon. The fact that they were heavily armed struck him as momentarily astonishing. The weapons that they carried were expressly forbidden in the city. When he crossed the back of the limousine, he was taken back by a bullet grazing his upper right bicep.

He cursed.

Switching his gun to the left hand, he fired the weapon in earnest, almost indiscriminately.

If none of them managed to survive the ordeal, then so be it.

No one took a shot at him and lived through it.

* * *

Things had changed.

Forever.

There could be no mistaking the fact that a terrorist attack on the Emperor, much less in Seoul, was an event that would reshape the landscape. It would upend the landscape between the intelligence agencies and the armed forces, ending the once seemingly endless war.

As the helicopters buzzed by, he tried his best to contain a sigh.

“Report.” Yoongi ordered Minjae, as his adjutant came to stand behind him.

“The district is secure,” The other man answered. “The plaza is sealed, the first division has been deployed, all witnesses are detained, and all injuries and fatalities have been taken to nearby hospitals.”

“The attackers?” Yoongi pressed.

“All dead, save for one,” Minjae responded. “He’s in intensive care, in a coma.”

He turned and glared daggers at him. “I want him placed on _constant_ watch. He is not to be left alone, not until he is recovered and, in a cell, inside of a military prison.”

“We won’t be giving him to the Praetorian Guard?” Minjae asked. 

“If you do that, you’ll be going with him,” Yoongi shot back. “Who do you think I’m holding responsible for this little _incident_?”

As the emergency services zoomed about, and the milling of the hundreds of people around them set it, Yoongi’s rage only seemed to grow.

“Director Hoseok has made contact with the palace for the status of them.”

Yoongi was silent for a moment – mulling it over.

“Tell him that his presence is requested at the palace,” He said after a moment.

“Sir?” Minjae’s face was the picture of disbelief.

It would’ve been funny under different circumstances.

He looked back.

“And if he doesn’t respond well to that, you can tell him that I am _ordering_ him to be at the palace in one hour.”

He wouldn’t say that he was prepared to rake Hoseok across the coals, at least not without Jimin’s explicit permission, but Hoseok was responsible for the city’s safety.

Someone had to answer for it.

* * *

 

Hoseok walked faster.

He understood position of weakness that he found himself in. An assassination attempt on the Emperor was one thing, it _usually_ meant that a lapse in security had occurred. That was the sort of the thing that he would take glee in cleaning up. A simple investigation, a simple interrogation, a few well placed threats, and that lapse would suddenly find itself sealed, and order would find itself restored stronger than ever.

To deal with it in Seoul, _much less_ on the doorstep of the Palace District, it was a far deadlier beast to contend with – with consequences that were far more severe. If the tanks sitting at the palace annex, and the circular patrol patterns by fighter jets, were anything to go by, the armed forces had seized near control of security in the capital.

And to hold power over Seoul’s security meant everything.

Which meant in the process of a few hours, the planning, the maneuvering, the _countless_ schemes that he and his forebears had undertaken had been obliterated.

He nodded at the two guards standing at both sides of the throne room door.

What met him wasn’t unexpected, but it was still jarring.

The throne room was entirely empty, save for the throne itself, and a single folding chair at the foot of the stone stairs. On it sat Captain Yoongi, shirtless, with a palace physician attending to what appeared to be a gunshot wound on his bicep.

On either side, two groups of four, muscular, special force troopers stood at the ready. Adorned in their camouflage gear, each one of them held massive, scoped assault rifles in their hands. What _really_ garnered his serious attention was the fact that every single one of those weapons were trained on him – directly at his chest.

Hoseok cocked his head, and finally managed to find the strength to look away.

“Captain Yoongi,” Hoseok said.

Yoongi’s lips pursed. “Director Hoseok.”

“I see that you’ve taken upon yourself to increase security?”

The stoic sentinel nodded and leaned forward bracing one of his elbows on his knee, keeping his injured arm still.

“You are aware of what happened?” His brow rose.

Hoseok crossed his arms behind his back and nodded.

_Of course_ , he’d heard about it, he was one of the first, if not _the_ first person, to be notified if that sort of thing happened. He’d promptly given orders that his entire global network be deployed. They were to scour the globe and sniff out any sort of hint of who was responsible for it. Once they had a credible name, he was the first to be informed.

“That’s my area of expertise,” Hoseok said.

It was an odd sensation to be in this position of weakness.

In all his years, he could count the times that he had been placed on the defensive on one hand.

“If you’re even as remotely capable as you claim to be, you’ll understand why the armed forces have to assume control of capital security,” Yoongi’s eyes sparked in an almost tangible, _sadistic_ delight. “That will remain the case until you clean your house.”

The both understood that the military would _never_ return power, not now.

What galled Hoseok more was the implication that somehow, it was within _the Praetorian Guard_ that the lapse occurred. To have a traitor in the ranks was entirely different to him than having one and _not knowing about it_. Hoseok prided himself on knowing everything that occurred underneath the umbrella of his direct supervision.

“What makes you think that it came from us?” He demanded.

Yoongi looked him square in the face. “Because there are two organizations that were aware of his parade dates, the Imperial Guard, _and_ the Praetorian Guard. I can personally vouch for my men, I'll investigate them, but I'd bet my life on them. Can you say the same?" 

It was only then that Hoseok let go of whatever thoughts of Yoongi being responsible. _Whatever_ the other man was, he was loyal, loyal to the Emperor, and no matter his personal political beliefs – he wouldn’t want to see harm brought upon him.

He didn’t seem to be swayed by the game that was Imperial Politics.

“How can you be sure?” Hoseok asked.

“I’m not _so_ green as to not back it up,” He nodded sagely. “I will make sure that each and _every_ member of the Imperial Guard is cleared, but the reason that you’ve been summoned here stands: _I’m informing you that due to lack of security on the part of your organization, the Emperor has stripped Seoul’s security from your purview_.”

It still didn’t make it seem any more real, now that it was laid out.

But he knew when he was defeated, if only temporarily.

“The Emperor commands this?”

Hoseok couldn’t recall the last time he felt as rudderless as he did then.

Yoongi nodded again. “These are his orders, not mine – though I’m happy to note that I’m in complete agreement. The written order has been sent your office.”

_Defrocked._

Hoseok was physically stopping himself from the guttural, _visceral_ reaction that was on the very edge of his senses. A murderous rage, that was what lay on horizon, and he knew well enough to get himself out of the palace before he indulged in it.

Suddenly the special forces made sense.

“Is it his majesty’s command that I purge my organization?”

He’d enjoyed Jimin’s faith longer than he frankly deserved, for the better part of his professional career really.

He owed it to Jimin to obey the order, obey it without question.

“Find the leak, _plug it_ , and you’ll be given the opportunity to redeem yourself, at least at some point,” His voice became sharp, as though he was through with any pretense of having to justify himself. “Is there anything else that I can do for you?”

_Breathe._

Hoseok had been in Yoongi’s position more times than he could remember. He had to remember that supreme smug feeling that enveloped you when you were in it.

“No,” Hoseok but off.

He had to get out of there, _quickly_.

“Go then,” Yoongi’s wave was imperious, firm and _final_.

The Director of the Praetorian Guard hesitated, for only a moment, before he gave into the order, and bowed.

Rising, he spun on his heels, and strode out of the throne room with admittedly more speed than he had when he’d entered it. He took another deep breath in and tried to face the inevitable with a _semblance_ of dignity, what little that he could muster up.

As he stepped through the doors, the breath escaped him with a growl.

_Fuck._

It was only after his stride had carried him farther away from the precipice of the throne room that he retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket. If he was being ordered to clean house, he was _more_ than happy to give that order. If they were having the conversation under any other set of circumstances, he might have been in complete agreement that a purge of the organization was needed, under a different light anyway.

Deep scowl set in on his face, he unlocked the phone.

Stabbing the number in, he continued to steel himself for the task ahead.

“Sir?” His assistant sounded genuinely concerned by the fact that he was calling.

“Have my plane ready in one hour,” He ordered, and hung up the connection.

He locked his phone and stowed it back.

Someone would pay dearly for this, for _all_ of this.

* * *

 

It had been squashed _quickly_.

If not for the fact that they had come perilously close to inflicting harm upon the Emperor, he might have admired the audacity. The conventional wisdom dictated that Seoul was a fortress, and an impregnable one at that. The Praetorian Guard had spent the better part of their existence spreading the idea that Seoul was beyond that red line.

Yoongi was willing to admit that they had succeeded, in part.

But they had failed that day – and failed at a critical juncture.

He slipped into the darkened room after receiving soft spoken permission.

“I relayed your orders,” Yoongi said so quietly that it might have been a whisper.

Even in the dark room, he could make out the vague outline of the rattled Emperor, almost swaddled in a mountain of plush, luxurious blankets and duvets.

“How did he take it?” Jimin asked.

Yoongi was taken aback by the tone of his voice, the flat – _dead_ tone.

“Livid, he was probably beside himself with anger,” Yoongi told him. “But I made it perfectly clear that it was _his_ mess, and that he wouldn’t be allowed to make another.”

Internal protocol dictated that in events like this, the handover occurred anyway.

Yoongi had to confess that he didn’t expect the spymaster to merely accept it.

And perhaps he hadn’t – that thought hadn’t escaped him.

“Good,” Jimin said.

For a few moments, silence drifted over them – and he wasn’t in any hurry to break it, not for the state that Jimin had been in since the events of that afternoon.

“Yoongi?” The ruler of the world asked, his tone somehow softer.

He was taken back to their first afternoon together.

It had only occurred to him then of how terrified the Emperor was.  

“Yes?”

“Is the palace secure?” He asked.

Yoongi nodded, even though Jimin couldn’t clearly see him.

“I’ve ordered palace security to remain on round the clock watch until further notice, and there is an entire military division deployed in the plaza,” Yoongi said. “It’s swarming with soldiers, trucks, predator drones, snipers, they even have two tanks.”

“Tanks?” Jimin asked, reluctant amusement lacing his words.

He nodded, “No one is getting inside of this building without you knowing.”

Jimin said nothing in response, at first.

What Jimin asked next sent his pulse racing, “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

Yoongi didn’t even have to think.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

* * *

His memory never failed him – and throughout the entirety of his life, he could only remember being this drawn in on himself only _once_. There had been a time in his life when his parents had isolated him. For good or bad, he didn’t know their exact motivations – but he liked to think that was offering him a reprieve from the life he’d live.

While he could afford to have one.

And then fate saw fit to take that from him.

Jimin had searched far and wide to find something, anything, that would give him that same feeling of inherit safety that his parents had. Once he found it, he wrapped himself so tightly into it that he thought he might never let go of it – that he’d die first.

Now it had failed him, and he found himself in freefall.

Hoseok had promised him peace, he’d had promised him security, and until that day, he had never failed in the promises that he had made.

He had _never_ failed before.

Was this a world where Hoseok failed?

He didn’t deserve to live in perpetual fear, no one did, but most of all him. It wasn’t a life that he’d chosen for himself, it was the hand that fate had dealt him. There was that voice in his mind that wanted him to beg and plead with these people to stop.

_Stop, please, stop._

He shouldn’t have to live behind a circle of tanks.

Jimin looked up to the door as it slid open.

And then of course, there was _him_.

He was much like Hoseok in the promises that he’d made to protect him.

But there was that strange little voice in the back of his mind that kept him on track. Yoongi hadn’t been with him long enough, but Hoseok had never done what Yoongi had done for him. He hadn’t physically fought for him, he hadn’t taken a bullet.

He was thankful that he didn’t say a word.

Jimin tore his eyes away from Yoongi’s form and turned away from the door.

“Will you still teach me?” He found himself asking.

He had to keep in mind that the odds of him having to use those vaunted self-defense skills were astoundingly low. Jimin understood that as much as he was surrounded by the never-ending torrent of danger, he was surrounded by loyal people.

People that were willing to die for him, if they needed to do so.

But it was something that he had to do for himself, Yoongi _had_ been right.

That idea, somehow, made him feel better, it made him feel safer than any sort of enormous tank-gun could.

He was met by silence, if only for a single moment.

“You don’t have to do that in response to this, we’re handling the situation.”

Jimin wouldn’t have that, he wouldn’t be told that he couldn’t do something.

Not this.

Not when he, more so than any of his forebearers since the formation of the Empire, had to deal with as much danger on a daily basis.

“Well _I_ am,” It was with a considerable amount of effort that he was able to put as much strength in his voice as he did. “And no matter how much protection you promise me, you were right when you said that it would fail me one day, today, it _all_ failed me.”

Yoongi stood at the foot of the bed, _openly_ speechless.

He supposed that if it came down to it, he could have had any trainer in the world to teach him. Anyone, anyone in the world, would be able to teach him what he needed.

Jimin’s eyes trailed down Yoongi’s form after another moment.

But _no_ , no other trainer would suffice in such an undertaking.

“What do you want me to teach you?” Yoongi asked.

“Everything.” Jimin said.

Yoongi blinked. “ _Everything_?”

Jimin nodded.

It was in that moment that he was able to find his strength again, or a form of it.

It was his world, it was his world to command, and all that his gaze fell upon was his to possess. The bedroom, the palace, the tanks and soldiers in the square, the city.

It was all _his_.

And so was Yoongi, for as long as he would have him.

“Alright,” Yoongi nodded. “I can teach you.”

And as the silence came over the two of them again, he felt himself calm more.  

Jimin would not deny that Hoseok would undoubtedly be hunting whoever had ordered harm upon him, if only to rehabilitate the fearsome name of his organization. He wouldn’t deny that Yoongi would be increasing pressure on his own forces to be on top.

But Yoongi looking him in the eye make him believe that all was well.

And that was what he needed.

The older man sighed but nodded. “I suppose your schedule means nothing?”

“Just between the two of us, hyung,” Jimin found himself smiling despite himself. “You’re standing in my palace, in the capital city of my empire, is really means nothing.”

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure how to do it, at first.

At first, the task had seemed so daunting that he was very nearly tempted to _abandon_ it all together. There were very few institutions in the history of the world that inspired as much fear in their enemies, and worship in their subjects, as the Imperial Family of the Infinite Empire. As far as the concept of absolute power went, they rethought it, reconceived it, and simply did it better than anyone that had done it before.

Whereas the other great monarchies had fallen into the oblivion that was opened by the passing ages, the Imperial Family of the Infinite Empire had never failed to stop and _think_ on their surroundings. They had never failed to keep their pulse on their subjects, and they never stopped ingratiating themselves into the political bedrock.

The result was that when all was said and done, the very idea of a world without the Imperial Family in it was absurd to most of the population of the Infinite Empire. It was a testament to their political skill that many people simply didn’t want that world.

So, Mark Tuan had found himself at an impasse.

His family had found their wealth and privilege in the Imperial Court, going into the business of feeding the almighty imperial war machine through their business ventures. He would be the first to admit that it paid to live in the sovereign’s embrace.

But even the family business of strip mining and manufacturing could keep him from the fact that he was made for other things.

And if it weren’t for the influence of Jung Hoseok, he might’ve been content to live that life by virtue of the fact that he wouldn’t know any better. He might have been content to thrive within that underhanded eco-system.

That was why he didn’t _dislike_ Jung Hoseok.

The man had introduced him to his real calling, to a world that he would flower and bloom in. He had hand picked him out of obscurity and made him his right hand.

But somewhere, their paths had diverged.

Somewhere, Hobi had gotten the idea in his mind that his creed to seek out, identify, and deal with all that would threaten the empire, translated into bedding the Emperor.

In that position, he could, in theory, wield complete power.

But that was only the surface of the issue.

The empire was a cell, it was a living, breathing, _thriving_ cell that needed all parts of it to run a certain way. Hobi believed that with a well-placed threat, the outlying systems could be intimidated into submission.

If only to keep from being labeled a butcher.

Kill one, threaten one, and you could terrify a thousand.

Mark supposed that it was his upbringing that was to be blamed for his point of view, but he believed force, overwhelming and brutally _powerful_ force was needed.

They shaped the future, they were the distributors of _real_ power.

What was the crown but a _wielder_ of that power? Furthermore, what was the crown when their power was _gone_?  What they had failed to realize was that their political power wasn’t rooted in the belief that absolute rule was a divine blessing.

As soon as people finally understood that there was no such thing, that the world would still spin without them, their power would be gone.

And then, in place of a divine right, it would fall to _force_ to maintain it.

Mark could say that was his motivation.

He was a patriot, no matter what any outside observer might claim him to be. He simply wanted the Emperor, or rather, _an_ Emperor, to share his philosophy. It would be the only way to maintain order, because there could come a day where the people would rise in revolt.

Which meant Hobi had to be excised – because he would never do it himself.

That was what he was attempting to do with Sojung.

Mark stared at the red-dossiers arrayed on his desk.

Likely, he only had a small window to begin to enact the rest of the plan. Eventually, he knew that Hoseok would catch its scent.   

He may have loathed Hobi’s methods, but he wasn’t a fool.

Leaning back in his chair, he fixed his gaze onto the television in the corner of his office.

Mark wondered how long it would take them.

_Take Hobi._

In his machinations, he had allowed only the barest hint of a conspiracy to slip into what evidence that would be found. It would serve the purpose of deflecting from the obvious choice, if only for a time, if only for enough time for them to be victorious.

The attack on the Emperor, this first one – it was the opening salvo.

Mark leaned forward for the phone on his desk.

The benefit of working underneath a man that was a paranoid as Hobi was that he was rarely considered the _only_ suspect.

Mark dialed the number that had been on his mind since news of the attack had broken.

Holding it up to his ear, he held it up to his ear and held his breath until the smooth, velvety voice that he’d been expecting, answered.

“Yes?”

“ _Begin_.”

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted Yoongi’s attention, he wanted his attention on him and no one else. He wanted his attention on him in spite of everything that separated them. He didn’t expect Yoongi’s attention, he wanted to try to attain it. He was not content with the expectation that Yoongi wanted him.

* * *

And so, the game's afoot.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

He hated traveling.

Moreover, he hated leaving Seoul – but Hoseok found that he _truly_ detested traveling in general.

Where it came from, he didn’t know – he merely figured that it was rooted from his near constant need to be in touch with the center of imperial power, or from his abject hatred of uprooting himself. Perhaps it was some gnarled hybrid of both. All he knew was that in the many years that he’d been at the apex of the Praetorian Guard, there had been very little in the way of threats to the empire that could possibly draw him from his perch in Seoul. He’d been content with dispatching his underlings to whatever fires required high level attention, and then dealing with them over the phone. It was unfortunate for him that those same minions were no longer trusted enough, but besides that – he found that this was a journey that he’d need to make.

The past two days of his trip had served to do nothing but firmly cement his hatred of travel.

Hoseok had managed to take a bit of delight in the shocked expressions on the faces of people who knew who he was, frightened expressions usually followed the shock, and they were everywhere. He assumed that they were either frightened by the sight of him outside of Seoul, or frightened by the very idea of something that so significant that it managed to draw him out.

But even the sadistic amusement couldn’t manage to lift his spirits.

When he’d arrived in Hong Kong, he’d been ferried to the naval base – _and_ he was met by Jackson Wang.

In the midst of his lieutenant’s constant shadowing, that city _too_ seemed to be in the midst of a rainstorm. When he'd boarded the ISS Stoneheart, the destroyer that would take him to his final destination, he was shown off by a billowing font of rain and fog. That storm seemed to follow him across the ocean, and all the way to the center of the exclusion zone. To his consternation, it only seemed to _finally_ stop just as the ship came into visual proximity with the lone, converted oil-rig. The rig seemed to be some macabre reward after thinking about it for far too much time.

Despite the fact that the rain had _finally_ stopped, the oil-rig, which possessed the unofficial moniker of _Ghost Prison_ , seemed to be just that: a lone, ghostly figure in a dense soup of blinding fog that hung over the ocean.

So, needless to say – by the time he actually stepped foot on the steel plated deck of the facility, Jung Hoseok was in a mood that could not be described with any other word other than _agitated_.

His political situation notwithstanding, he was tired of being followed, he was tired of being _questioned_ by his subordinates, but most of all, he was dreading what he came here to do.

His hatred of travel usually kept him from traveling, but when he did travel, the _idea_ of coming to _this_ place wasn’t even on the list of places that he would dare to deign to grace with his presence. There was a certain logic in not stepping foot in an terribly isolated, maximum-security prison that had been born from his mind. That logic extended to the fact that it was one that he’d personally filled with its permanent inhabitants. It wasn’t that Hoseok held any fear of _them_ , but the facility was stacked with hundreds of people that would love nothing more than to kill him.

Given the isolation, and the sheer amount of prisoners – he had no wish to remain.

Flanked at his right by Jackson, and at his left by Warden Hu Li, Hoseok strode down the steel plated corridor. Hands clasped firmly behind his back, his gaze was affixed on the red plated door at the very end of the path. Naturally, Jackson had done his best to dissuade him from doing this, but that had only served to affirm that this was the correct course of action. He didn’t have any apparent reason to distrust Jackson, _save_ for the fact that he was one of his station chiefs.

That, in itself, torpedoed any sort of trust – given the circumstances.

“Director, I have to protest,” Jackson fretted. “This prisoner, he isn’t an ordinary man.”

Holding up a hand, Warden Li stopped in place, keeping his gaze firmly ahead, like the loyal, discreet solider that he was. Hoseok turned to look over his right shoulder, and after a single moment of pause, turned to fully meet him. Puffing his chest out, and pulling himself up to his full height, he took a certain amount of pleasure in the naked fear that cast itself over Jackson.

The amusement in the irony of Jackson’s statement not escaping him notwithstanding.

 “I don’t like that you’re implying Chief Wang,” Hoseok’s curt reply was tinted with a thinly veiled note of _warning_. “Your implication that I don’t know how to interrogate a prisoner, your implication that I don’t know how to interrogate this prisoner, your implication that I don’t know how dangerous this _particular_ prisoner is, or your incorrect assertion that _you_ _have the authority_ to tell _me_ what I can or cannot do, or where I can or cannot go in this prison.”

The prison that he had designed – truly, _every_ faucet of the facility had been born from the deepest depths of his mind.

But still, Hoseok found that he took great offense at the notion that Kim Heechul could be anything more than a glorified nuisance to the likes of him. Jackson was very correct in that his direct predecessor possessed the necessary skill that all who helmed the Praetorian Guard needed to have. To his credit, Heechul had it in spades. That had allowed him to develop a reputation that was not unlike the one that Hoseok had – but what separated himself from Heechul was the fact that he had always done it _better_. It also helped that he possessed a gift for manipulation, a skill that Heechul professed to abhor. What Heechul had always failed to grasp was that without that manipulation, his vaunted political shrewdness could be rendered completely toothless.

Hoseok punctuated his rebuke with a dark glare.

Jackson shrunk, but he nonetheless had the courage to continue – shaking his head.

“That’s not what I meant – all I mean is that Prisoner Heechul is best left isolated from outside events, if you insist on keeping him alive.”

Scowling, Hoseok thought back to the flack that he’d received for not ordering Heechul’s death.

Ever since the beginning of the guard, it had been something of an unwritten tradition that all of those that headed it needed to inherit the position by killing the last occupant of the chair. That had been the pattern, the grand tradition, that was followed for centuries, until it got to them.

Hoseok bore the unique distinction in the annals of the guard of being the only leader to gain the position by not killing his predecessor. Kim Heechul he had the distinction of being the only leader to lose his position, and thanks to Hoseok, not lose his life in that rough, grating process.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know why he’d spared Heechul.

When he gave it extended thought, he usually chalked it up on his need to never waste a potential resource – though he suspected that if he were to examine it further, it could be for other reasons.

“If you have so little stomach, then maybe you should return to the Stoneheart?” Hoseok pressed.

Jackson sighed. “He’s a former Director of the guard, sir – he’s not to be underestimated.”

“That is true,” Hoseok found himself smiling, it was a genuine smile – the first one that had graced his lips in days. “Kim Heechul once headed the Praetorian Guard, but I head it now – and there is a very good reason for that.”

Silence met him, and Hoseok sensed that he was close to his goal by the look of uncertainty that crossed over his underling’s conflicted face.

“Go back to the ship, wait for me there,” Hoseok ordered.

“But sir?” Jackson asked.

He pointed back in the opposite direction, back towards the lift that had taken them to this level, “That’s an order.”

Jackson seemed to hesitate again and looked as if he had something else to say – before he surrendered and bowed to him at the neck. He watched as Jackson turned on his heels and seemed to waste no time in his stride back towards the elevator. It was only after Jackson had stepped on the elevator, and only after he was departing the level, that Hoseok broke away back towards the cell door at the other end. He allowed himself to dwell on his uncertainty. Unlike much of what he had been submerged in for the last few days, he had a very good idea of why he was unwilling to go through that door and stand face to face with the man that he had succeeded.

More than anything, to go through that door would be an admittance of failure.

Perhaps Heechul wouldn’t view it in that light, but _he_ would – he knew that going through that door would feed that little bit of insecurity within him.

He didn’t wish to stand before Heechul and allow him the opportunity to judge him, the opportunity to think that had he still been in charge, none of this would have happened.

But he had to remember that he had kept Heechul alive for just an occasion like this.

Hoseok nodded to himself.

He had to go through that door – and face his past.

* * *

 

Park Hyunjin didn’t _hate_ his job.

Normally, things ran smoothly – his team inspected semitrucks, and attended to accidents on the roadway. The idea of shutting down Seoul and searching every single car that passed through the limits of the city was not in his ordinary pattern. He commanded one station – inbound traffic station seven in the northeast section of the city. He couldn’t envision what it would take to inspect all incoming traffic into the capital city. The thought stretched the limits of what his imagination could possibly conjure and would surly require more than what he had on hand.

The idea made his head throb and his back ache.

Looked out of his small office window, he had a good idea of what it would entail.  

He’d known fully well what was going to occur when the news broke – the news of an attempted assassination of the Emperor within the confines of the city. He’d known that Seoul would face a virtual lockdown, but somehow, he’d wanted to avoid contemplating the idea that it was going to ruin his week. He’d hoped for this, knowing full well that events such as the murder, or attempted murder, of a member of the Imperial Family were the only catalysts for this.

He sighed deeply and sat back in his chair – absorbing what silence he could before he knew he’d face interruption.

As the CO, it was he that had to field the complaints from incensed citizens, and it was he that had to promise to forward it to the central office. Whether or not it was followed through with on their end was out of his hands, but Hyunjin had to be the face of the operation, he had to wear the bland mask of a complacent civil-servant. He was the one that had to be screamed at by people from all walks of life, who were just trying to get into the city for whatever purpose. 

“Captain Hyunjin,” His radio buzzed on his hip – and Hyunjin fought through the ensuing headache that the noise brought to him. “We have _erm_ … a situation at station three, and I need you to come and verify something for me.”

“What is it?” Hyunjin snapped as he managed to unbuckle his radio and bring it up. “Another unruly citizen?”

“No, they have a government clearance card, a _red-coded_ one,” The officer said, and Hyunjin wished he cared enough to remember the poor boy’s name. “It needs your verification.”

“I’ll be right down.”

He found himself almost murmuring the words.

It was well known that government officials operated on another metric from the ordinary civil-service worker, or citizen. Equipped with clearance cards, they were color-coded, consisting of yellow, red and black. Yellows were handled by low-level functionaries, who were usually office workers, or aids to ministers. In abundance, they usually exempted the wielder from having to deal with civil authorities – on paper, it was to carry out the business of the higher ups. It was common to see them, and it was even more common for a fuss to be made when they were thrown around.

There was even a grass-roots attempt to have the coded system abolished, though it had been met with a withering death.

Black cards were the rarest, they were wielded strictly by government-brass. The wielder of one of those was exempted from all civil laws, and even when criminal law was violated, they were tried on another court-tier.

It was the red-cards that usually indicated middle-management – usually carried by those directly under the ministers of state, or those acting in their authority.

Hyunjin _grimaced_.

After everything that he had dealt with today, he didn’t want to deal with this.

* * *

He still bore the look of a porcelain doll.

It had long been rumored that Kim Heechul was born from a far-flung, illegitimate branch of the Imperial Family. To his credit, he always played coy about the rumors, but never humored them in public. In private, Heechul had confided to him that the rumors were true.

Whether or not they were true was immaterial, Kim Heechul was able to control the flow of information around his roots. He’d reshaped the truth to suit his own desires. For his part, Hoseok had been dubious, and in certain ways, he flat out didn’t believe it. None of that mattered though, because as far as Heechul was concerned, it was true, he had made it true and anything that ran contrary to the truth he created was no longer valid.  

Perception was reality, and to control perception was their trade.

Hoseok noted that the older man had not seemed to have aged a single day since he’d last seen him – in many ways, one probably wouldn’t be able to tell the fact that he was older.

It wasn’t as if he’d been imprisoned in a wind-swept turret, but he had been imprisoned.

His long black hair was still full of luster and shine and was pulled back into a lazy-top knot. His skin was without a single flaw, save for a slight line around his eyes. For anyone that hadn’t known him before he had been taken to the facility, it might not have meant anything. To Hoseok though, someone who had spent entire years of his life in total and completely constant proximity to him, it was perhaps the sole indication that he had aged.

His eyes were still so impossibly soft, his long, elegant nose still curved off into a petite, small button. Hoseok’s eyes drifted down to his lips, which were set into a full, open and inviting smile, which, incidentally, confirmed for him that Heechul’s teeth were still all in their places.

Oh, he had _no_ doubt that he was getting favors from his guards.

He made a mental note to discover the true extent of it and gauge the threat.

“The world must be ending,” Heechul teased, crossing his legs. “For you to brighten my doorstep.”

The thought did occur to him that Heechul might have a hand to play in all of this, if his theory of his guard detachment and their willingness to bring him contraband had any more weight than beauty-products. He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t probe the theory, but he doubted that it would play out that way. Heechul was without guile as Director of the Praetorian Guard, and Hoseok highly doubted that he’d developed a knack for it securely imprisoned within his cell.

Hoseok found himself chewing on his lip in thought, holding back whatever response he had.

Saying nothing, he broke eye contact with Heechul, and a made a sharp turn towards the far left-hand corner of the room. He knew very well that if he ordered the security recordings of the meeting destroyed, they would be, and no unwitting attendant would be foolish enough to spy.

He wouldn’t have gotten as far in life as he had been if he hadn’t been as utterly thorough as he had been. That was another thing that had separated himself from Heechul, another thing that had separated him from the legions that had followed them.

When Hoseok bit into something, he bit into it and bit into it until there was nothing left but bone – and then he’d chew the bone down into the marrow, consuming all traces of matter.

Besides, he had to break eye contact.

Their past aside, their present aside, Heechul was still so _impossibly_ beautiful.

He could feel the eyes locked onto his back as he came upon the security camera.

“You look good,” Heechul commented. “I’m glad to see that the big job hasn’t stopped you from working out.”

Hoseok found himself fighting down a smile as he leaned up and _plucked_ the power cord from the small-outlet connected to the camera. 

“It comes with having the right people in the right position,” Hoseok countered lightly as he stepped away from the corner and began scanning the floor. “You know all about that, don’t you?”

He was looking for the trap panel that contained the audio device. Such measures weren’t usually found in prison cells, especially in prisons that were run by the Praetorian Guard – but then again, there was no other prison like this.

Looking up, he spied a glance towards Heechul, who was blinking at him with those doe-eyes, and then he back down to the floor.

_And there’s never been a prisoner like him before._

“Center line, right in front of the door – if it’s the bug you’re looking for.”

He looked back to Heechul and quirked a brow.

Heechul winked at him.

* * *

He felt like a waterlogged rat.

But he trudged between the aisle of cars, approaching the inspection station in question.

There were so many faces, so many angry faces, it was easy for it to fade into the background when one forced it into the background. At the end of the day, they had to understand the position that they were in. They lived in the most important city in the world, it had to maintain some semblance of order. More often than not, order was achieved through appearances than actual results, and as long as they went through it for appearances sake, order could be restored.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like a tightly wrapped sausage in his government issued poncho.

The honking of the horns, the hum of the engines, the pungent fumes of exhaust and gasoline filled and overwhelmed his senses as he came upon Officer Jaemin. The young man stood at the driver’s side of a sleek, black, four-door sedan – looking about as drenched as he was in the storm. His light blond hair was plastered to his forehead, and he looked to be on the verge of an episode. Not that he could blame him, but he found himself without a bit of sympathy for him.

Folding his arms behind his back, he came to stand next to Jaemin.

And when he looked into the car, he was met with the sight of man that chilled him.

He was nondescript and as benign as one could possibly think – but with the trimly tailored suit that he wore, along with the thick pair of aviator glasses, he managed to make alarms ring out.

He ignored Jaemin in favor of giving the stranger a nod.

“Hello there,” Hyunjin said. “Might I see your clearance card?”

The stranger said nothing, not giving him any reason to believe that he’d even heard Hyunjin give the order. It was only after a moment did the man reach down to his console and retrieve the red chip that had gotten his attention. Hyunjin took the chip in hand without a word and examined it in the palm of his hand. Incredibly light, it was cased in a light laminate material, and appeared to be nothing more than a normal card. He knew better though, he knew that once it ran through verification, it would determine whether or not the card was a legitimate issue.

Hyunjin locked eyes with the stranger one more time, “I’ll be right back, sir.”

The stranger said nothing, and merely rolled his window up.

Blinking, he looked back down to the card, looked over to Jaemin, then nodded.

“Wait here,” He ordered.

* * *

 

There were ten thousand reasons for him not do this.

For one, to inflict any physical harm upon the Emperor of the Infinite Empire was a felony.

The severity could land the accused in prison for a minimum sentence of twenty years. It was an automatic death sentence if that harm resulted in the death or the incapacitation of the Emperor.

It did not escape his notice that it would usually fall to him to inflict such justice upon a criminal.

Even if Jimin had given him explicit clemency, it was still a difficult task to rise above and overcome that mental roadblock.

His thoughts had him caught up in a daze. Yoongi was tucked into the corner of the gym, polishing the array of knives that sat before him. Not that he intended on teaching Jimin the finer art of how to use them, but he found that it centered his mind.

It had taken a few days, but the reality of where he stood had now caught up to him.

It was due to the failures of others that he was now in the position that he was. He could say that he honestly did not desire to control Seoul, and thus the throne. It was hard to imagine that not that long ago, he was directionless. He had some bearing of what direction he was going to go in, but he never imagined that it would land him here. Even when Jungkook had managed to talk Jimin into giving him the position, he'd sworn to himself that he would try and remain above the fray, above all of the politics.

Now, he was in the center of it.

It didn't matter if someone else had been the catalyst, their actions had caused him to be shoved right up to the center of the line, and it enraged him. It enraged him because at the end of the day, his only concern had been the safety of the Emperor. That had been the case throughout his professional career. It was the deeply prevalent, silent rule that they did not fight for the people of the empire, or the empire itself.

But for the Emperor.

In many ways, the Emperor was the single, living embodiment of all of that.

Now he had to not only secure the Emperor, but the palace, the city, and the empire.

"Nice of you to show up," His voice broke through the stillness of the gym.

Yoongi looked up from his knife, and slowly lowered the cloth.

He knew that it was Jimin, he had given orders for the staff to stay clear of the gym to provide the Emperor some manner of dignity. If he was truly instant on this, Yoongi knew that by the end of the day he was going to be forced to throw the Emperor to the ground. It simply wouldn't do for a servant see that. If Yoongi was having an issue getting around the fact that he would be doing it, some domestic worker certainly wouldn't get the privilege of getting to see it happen.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he sat his knife down and turned.

And in a moment of hilarity, his jaw dropped.

There were a few moments in his life where he could remember himself being shocked to the point of speechlessness. He found that the saying was overused by most people that used it, but with the life he'd led, it could be applied in a few instances. A few of those memories had been terrible, so graphic that it had rendered him simply blank for a number of days.

He could say that _this_ sight was among the more pleasant, and he could say with completely certainty that he much preferred the more pleasant.

The gym shorts, or rather the bike shorts, that Jimin wore could not _possibly_ be made for men. If they were, they were four sizes too tight, and not meant to be worn outside of clothing. Tights were one thing, leggings were another thing too -- but what the Emperor wore was nothing short of completely _obscene_.

They looked to be so tight that they looked to border on the painful, appearing to cut into the skin of his thighs.

They left nothing to the imagination, and they painted the already, seemingly natural sensuousness that the Emperor paraded around with in a deeper, shiner coat.

"Yoongi?"

Yoongi blinked and looked up from Jimin's shorts to meet his gaze.

To his credit, Jimin seemed to be a master at portraying the picture of serene innocence. To a lessor man, to a man that was not accustomed to this, they might not have noticed the slight, mischievous twinkle that rested in the far corner of his eyes.

He wetted his dry throat and couldn't resist looking at the shorts again.

They were _blue_ , and he looked as if he'd been poured into them.

"Captain," Jimin's voice was a tad sharper.

"Your Majesty," Yoongi looked back up, nodding. "I see you're ready?"

"I am," Jimin nodded, and his lips quirked. "You seem to be interested in my gear?"

He certainly was interested in Jimin's gear.

Even as they stood across from each other, in one of those strange compartmentalized versions of his mind, he was exploring all the ways that Jimin could possibly have gotten them on. In another, he was contemplating if it’d be possible for him to remove them from him in one piece.

Or if Yoongi would have to cut him out of them.

Or rip them off of him.

With his _teeth_.

_Fuck._

"The gear is adequate," Yoongi nodded his head once, lingering on the word.

Not quite hesitating, but not hiding the fact that he had to search for the term.

Jimin looked taken aback by the admission, and then blinked as if he couldn't quite believe that the word could be ascribed to anything he did. Yoongi wouldn't be the least bit surprised to find that Jimin would be genuinely offended by the notion that he could do something that was slightly less than perfect. He had been raised to rule, to sit on a throne, to embody a political abstraction that could bind the world together.

He was meant to be _perfect_.

And as Yoongi trailed his eyes down the contours of Jimin's legs, he had to admit it.

He was perfect.

"Adequate?" Jimin tested.

Yoongi nodded, "And, as part of our agreement, I have to insist that while we're in here,  you leave your title at the door. I'm going to teach you things in here that could harm you if you don't know how to do it properly, and it could land me in trouble if you-..."

"I already told you-..." Jimin shook his head.

Holding up a finger, he could admit that he took a little amusement out of the unabated shock that crossed over Jimin's face at the gesture. "And I'm telling you I'm having a hard to getting around the obvious. It'll make it easier if you drop all pretense, and we were able to do this as equals, or maybe as a teacher and student, please?"

The fact that he was talking to who he was served to only exist as a vague, idle thought. What he hoped was that during this exercise, and perhaps in future exercises, they could find themselves on different footing. When he said that he only cared about his safety, he truly did. If Jimin wished to learn the things that he had to teach, he would be obliged to teach him, but he needed to have something in return.

After another moment, Jimin's face screwed up into a picture of resigned displeasure.

"You get off on making Emperors do your bidding? Don't you?" Jimin raised a brow.

Yoongi smiled, immensely pleased. "I wouldn't know, you're the only one I know."

He clearly seemed to enjoy the banter, and Yoongi took another bit of small satisfaction in the light blush that colored his cheeks.

They soon fell into a comfortable quiet as Jimin proceeded to stretch, and Yoongi turned to begin to pack his knives away. It was one of those unfortunate byproducts of the events of the other day. He'd noticed it right away, from the first moment that Jimin had managed to get a hold of himself. It seemed as if the wind had been taken from his sails, as if the incident itself had robbed him of his stately and genetic confidence.

Where Jimin had once been able to sink into any conversation, now, it was different.

He'd seemed to sink into an introversion that was startling.

But Yoongi wasn't prepared to confront that, not right now. If silence gave him comfort, and if this was his way of dealing with it, he would be more than happy to give it to him.

As he stowed the last knife in the satchel and began to wind it up, he started to chuckle.

Silence aside, comfort aside, he knew he wouldn't be able to focus until he asked about it.

Or _them_.

"So, we're still operating under title-at-the-door rules, right?" Yoongi asked.

He was careful to keep his back turned. He'd long considered himself a pretty strong person, but he doubted that he would be able to contain himself at the sight of Jimin stretching.

Not only stretching though but stretching in those accursed bike shorts.

"Yes?" Jimin grunted.

Yoongi blew out a sigh at the sound of that noise. "About those shorts?"

He still kept his back turned.

He had to.

"What about them?" Jimin asked, his voice tinged with a light bit of laughter.

"Are they men's shorts, or do you like them that tight?"

Jimin's laughter tinkled throughout the room.

"Would you believe me if I said that they're the only pair I have?"

"When did you first buy them? When you were fifteen?"

"Sixteen," Jimin corrected. "And contrary to how they look, they fit just fine."

If he'd seen his face, he would've seen his eyes rolling right back into his head.

* * *

Jimin pursued him harder.

The forms, the sequences, they were easy enough for him to learn. It was in the practical usage, in the act of landing them on Yoongi that was the real challenge. He would not fail though, he would not allow himself to be denied. There was a small, miserable part of himself that would not allow the totality of his being to quit. If he quit, they would win, if he quit, they would make a victim out of him again, if he quit, he was allowing himself to be victimized in the far future.

As the Emperor, he was above such things. He was the pure embodiment of a supreme power that stood far and above all such people and institutions that claimed to possess something like it.

But he was a strange being, a being made up of two distinct personalities.

One side of him would be not be allowed to become a victim because he was not a mere mortal.

There was that side of him that was plainly human though. Inside of him was that ever-suffocated boy named Park Jimin, a boy who had been forced to grow up way before his time.

That boy had been a victim his entire life.

Whether it was as a victim of circumstance, a victim of fate, or a victim of some crazed political ideologue with a few well-placed explosives. Now, he supposed, he could say that Park Jimin had nearly been the victim of some crazed political ideologues with a few well-placed bullets. 

And he had made up his mind, he would no longer allow himself to be victimized.

There was very little that he could do in the way of merging the part of himself that represented that abstract political idea into the human. He could, in some way, merge the part of himself that was a scared human being into that ideal though. He could allow himself to embrace that supreme authority that fate had seen fit to sit upon his head.

It all came down to the fact that it was his world to do with what he wished.

And what he wished was to be strong.

He kicked at the padded quadrants of Yoongi’s legs with deeper and fiercer resolve. His pulse raced, his breath was ragged, his vision was tinged with flashes of white dots at the edges. Still, he pressed on, none of the pain, none of the exertion, not of it would stand in the way of his goal.

He had to conquer this.

That was his purpose in life, was it not? He had been bred from birth to rule. That was why he was being targeted, right? There was a group of people out there in the world that resented what he was and what he represented and sought to harm him. They resented him because he was meant to rule, that he was meant to conquer – they wanted him and his family to suffer for it.

They wouldn’t pose much of a threat if they were the ones that suffered first.

“Harder!” Yoongi demanded of him, pressing backing into his strikes.

Jimin allowed himself to break free of his thoughts to note the fact that Yoongi was slowly angling them into the far corner of the matted area.

It had not failed to occur to him that he was becoming more and more dependent on Min Yoongi, especially since the _incident_. Aside from the more obvious reasons, he was slowly ingratiating every single aspect of Yoongi into what his comfort zone was. His presence, his shadow, his scent, the slow drawl of his words – they brought a level of comfort to him that he’d never known.

Maybe with Hoseok – but Hoseok had been a different kind of comfort.

Whereas Hoseok promised vengeance on those that wronged him, Yoongi promised safety.

He was safety.

His first instinct was to shower him with all tangible rewards that he could bring down upon a single human being. Considering the position that he held in life, the list of rewards, grants and favors that he could bring upon Yoongi was considerable, and no matter how wild, very possible.

But that was what made Yoongi different.

That’s what made him the comfort and safety that he did.

He could shower riches upon the man that he could not fathom in his wildest imagination. Jimin could invest him with the rule, governance and domination of whole countries and populations.

He could make it so that he never had to lift a finger again in his life. He could enrich him, his family and his family’s family. Yet, he understood that none of that would matter to him in the long run – and that somehow drew him closer.

And that line of thought brought him to a screeching halt.

Jimin blinked at him, slowly, as if he was seeing him through clear eyes for the first time.

But then again, that’s what he was doing – he was seeing him with a renewed clarity.

His diplomatic training was all that prevented the small noise that he made from escaping.

“What is it?” Yoongi demanded lowering his hands, concerned. “Why did you stop?”

He’d enjoyed the flirtation, he’d enjoyed the looks and their little games. It was within the very fabric of his genes to soak up that attention up like a sponge. His ancestors had used it to conquer the world and the hearts of everyone in it. Men, women, entire nation-states, armies, they had built the empire on it.

There was a supreme difference between all of that and this though.

 _He_ wanted Yoongi’s attention, he wanted his attention on him and no one else. He wanted his attention on him in spite of everything that separated them. He didn’t _expect_ Yoongi’s attention, he wanted to try to _attain_ it. He was not content with the expectation that Yoongi wanted him.

“Jimin?” Yoongi pressed again. “Jimin?! Your Majesty, say something!”

He crossed the distance between them and smashed his lips again his.

Jimin could feel every single inch of Yoongi still in shock. His lips were closed, and his eyes were wide open. Never one to let such a thing stand in his way, he found himself circling his arms around Yoongi’s neck and pulling him closer.

It was to his complete surprise, or rather, complete _shock_ that Yoongi groaned against his mouth, gripped his forearms with the gloves still in place, and forcefully pulled back.

He was too shocked by the rejection to be dejected by it.

* * *

Hoseok had always considered himself orderly.

Whereas Heechul had thrived in chaos and believed that he would be safe if he kept his enemies in a perpetual state of it. That, more than anything, was the biggest fundamental difference between the two of them. Kim Heechul was the only other being that he could measure himself against, and when he did, he found that the circumstances were very much the same. It was that constant battle between the forces of chaos, and the cleanliness of order that had led them down such diverging paths.

It was the reason that Heechul was the caged animal, and he was in charge.

Because while there was a certain logic in the idea of governing by chaos, the flaw was that it was chaos. By its very definition it was uncontrollable. Heechul had never seemed to seriously contemplate the fact that his own chaos would be his undoing. He was a living, breathing testament to Hoseok's belief that iron-fisted order was the way.

Why leave the direct of your fortunes in the hands of such a fickle master such as fate? Why take the risk when you could shape your fortunes? Heechul could never seem to do that, but Hoseok had. Hoseok had created order, he had shaped the way of things to fit his design and that was what separated him from all of his predecessors. It was what especially separated him from the one that sat before him.

Why take the risk of having people following other paths when he could create them?

There was no way but _his_ way.

Folding his arms across his chest, he eyed the man that so many people had the nerve to refer to as his mentor. He understood why they were under that impression. It was an image that they had both crafted. It was an image that for the sake of political expediency he had done nothing to dispute. He wondered what people would think if they knew the truth, the true balance of power in their relationship. The truth was that there was very little, in the way of useful at least, that this man could impart upon him.

A mentor, perhaps in the loosest definition of that word.

That was all though, he was not, and never had been his master,  and certainly not a superior.

"It must be big," Heechul began.

The soft, barely audible words drew his attention back from his lazy observation of the small existence that Heechul had carved out for himself. He was especially sure to take note of the bookshelf in the far-left hand corner of the room. It looked to be packed to the brim with handwritten journals, books, magazines, newspapers. All appeared to be dog earned and worn by the excessive attention that their owner foisted upon them. It came as nothing of a surprise to him that Heechul had tried to keep his mind active.

"Oh?" Hoseok asked, quirking a brow.

A smirk carved its way onto the corner of Heechul's full lips.

And he was ashamed with himself to realize that he was still so impossibly beautiful.

"You wouldn't come all the way out there for anything short of a terrible emergency, and even then you would only come here if you absolutely had to do it," Heechul shook his head in amusement. "You certainly wouldn't want to come and visit me for kicks."

Hoseok's lips pursed into a displeased line.

"Did you grow insightful when I wasn't paying attention to you?"

"I was always that way," Heechul contended with a titter. "You just underestimate me."

"You give me great reason to do so," He cocked his head. "Look at where we are."

"Fair enough," Heechul acknowledged with a nod of his head.

And then the silence fell back upon them as they transitioned into the stand-off. It was standard detente for occasions such as these. Hosoek was even willing to acknowledge the fact that it was the one bit of wisdom that he was able to pass onto him. First, probe the opponent's defenses for any discernible point of weakness. Then, attack that point of weakness with everything at your disposal once it was identified.

It in the middle of this process that he began to get tangled up in another fear.

_Nostalgia._

He didn't hate Heechul, contrary to what some people might have been willing to believe. They could see it that way if they weren't in the know, but then again not many people were in the know. They could not possibly understand the impact that they had inflicted on each other's lives. His fate, his future, his power, it had all been shaped by _their_ meeting. His future, his legacy, his reputation, they had all been shaped by their meeting.

When history was written, and the historians plunged into the record, they would find that there were no two souls that were as tightly connected as theirs.

"Do you like your library?" Hoseok asked.

"It keeps the days full," Heechul shrugged and turned to give it a once-over. "I like it."

Hoseok nodded once.

"And, I trust that these guards that you've somehow managed to persuade to slip you contraband, they treat you well?" Hoseok's voice was flat, and it hid a thinly-veiled threat of warning. Not to Heechul, as much as it was towards his _guards_. "Correct?"

Heechul's mouth parted open for a moment, clearly in shock. As soon as the brief window opened, it closed -- and it was replaced by that same, default mask of smug indifference. Experience had taught him to automatically assume that he was being worked by him. Had they been having this same conversation years earlier, there could be no doubt that he was attempting to pull one over on him -- but that was in the past.

He couldn't be entirely sure that Heechul wasn't working him.

"My reputation still holds weight."

He still didn't quite understand the urge to make sure that Heechul was alright, but he was grateful for the out that the other man had taken.

Lowering his arms, he swallowed and slowly sunk to his haunches to become level.

"I need your help."

There.

_He'd said it._

He'd openly admitted the weakness of his position.

What's more, he'd admitted it to the one person that had shaped his life more than anyone else. He'd admitted it to the one person that could not possibly hold a lower opinion of him, even if he tried. 

He fixed him with an even look and leaned forward, "What makes you think that I can be of any help to you? As you so pointed out, I'm not that insightful, not like you."

"But you're the only one who's been in my position before."

" _Hobi_ ," Heechul stretched the word.

And Hoseok suppressed a smile.

He could only think of two or three people that had the fortitude to call him that.

* * *

They were everywhere.

It was long said that no one in the capital city, anyone who mattered anyway, could use the restroom without it being noted in some record vault of the Praetorian Guard.

Even when the screen flashed the authorization code, there was a distinct sense of dread that welled up from inside him. It felt almost like the aftermath of a sting, it was a feeling of trepidation that told that he’d done something wrong, and that he needed to tread carefully before he endured punishment.

Hyunjin aimlessly pulled the chip from the reader.

Reaching for his two-way, he padded the connector-code for Officer Jaemin’s unit.

Padding it in, he waited for the click before holding it up to his ear.

He needed for this to be over with as soon as possible.

“Captain?” Jaemin asked.

“Officer Jaemin, allow them to proceed.”

Standard protocol dictated that upon receiving that code, all references of it were to be deleted from their records, the encounter was to be forgotten and it was never to be spoken of, at all, again.

“Sir?” The young man asked, obviously confused.

He steeled himself.

“Let him go?” Jaemin inquired.

“Do as I say,” Hyunjin said, his voice becoming grave. “Let them pass.”

Even as the young man muttered a reluctant acknowledgement, he hoped that it was enough.

_Please, let it be enough._

* * *

Had he ever loved someone?

He loved his mother, he worshipped the ground that she walked on.

It could be said that the first bond that he’d ever developed in life had colored all that followed. He loved the empire, he loved the Praetorian Guard as if it were his own child. He loved the Emperor too – as _any_ loyal citizen of the Infinite Empire would. Hoseok was maybe too romantic in the way he viewed loyalty to the crown and the empire – he viewed it with nationalism that was almost too fanatical.

He’d loved the Emperor – _literally_.

In many ways like he’d loved Kim Heechul, but yet, in a different way too.

But he couldn’t say that he loved Jimin. He cared for him, perhaps the only person that he cared for like that, other than his mother and the man before him. It made him ponder the question of whether or not he loved Kim Heechul like that, where he fell in the chaotic miasma of his life.

Heechul had been the most transformative force he’d ever encounter, undoubtedly.

“Why should I help you?” Heechul demanded.

Hoseok felt his lip curl, “Because these enemies threaten the crown.”

“No,” Heechul shook his head. “We both know that you’re pursuing this with such zeal because they threaten _you_.”

He felt his rage flare to life but stopped just short of expressing it.

Perhaps he did love him, in that passionate, _romantic_ way. Their bond had taken forms and gone to depths that would chill the most jaded of souls.

He had killed for the man in front of him, he’d destabilized nations, rerouted and reshaped the face of global politics _for_ Kim Heechul.

And he was still alive, that spoke volumes of the depths of his love.

“What I did to you, I did to secure the empire and the guard,” Hoseok bit out. “Your philosophy could not be allowed to continue to guide the direction of things. It was because of your need to operate in the light, to operate with political _approval_ , that made us weak. It was because of your decisions that the late Prince-Imperial lost his life, _you_ made _yourself_ vulnerable and I acted.”

This, of course, was not known to Jimin – who if he ever found out would probably demand that Heechul be executed. The people who took the lives of the former Prince and his wife might have eluded his gaze, but he had learned that Heechul was responsible for it – in his own way.

Perhaps to omit such knowledge was seditious.

Luckily for both Hoseok and Heechul, Hoseok had a good say in what constituted sedition.

“I was not responsible for that,” Heechul’s eyes grew stormy.

“But the responsibility is yours,” Hoseok pulled one of his hands away and fixed a pointed finger at him. “Your mistake was thinking that everyone has the same moral qualms that you do. You labored under the delusion that I was just as willing to tolerate failure as you were. You’re in this prison because of that, because you left me no choice. As to why you’re alive, I guess I’m weak.”

Heechul cocked his head.

“What will you give me in exchange?” Heechul prodded.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

He closed his eyes and swallowed, before taking a long moment to look down to his lap.

It was then that he finally looked broken, that he finally looked as if he was indeed imprisoned, rather than simply in a steel-plated spa. Not such much in the physical aspects as it was in his body language. It was as if Heechul was finally allowing him to see what lurked underneath.

He looked broken.

“I want freedom.”

Freedom carried with it a lot of connotations – freedom from the cell, freedom from the earth, though Hoseok had a fairly good idea as to what he wanted.

It was hard to imagine that he had ever lived in a time where he considered fear a common emotion. In hindsight, to call something fear was an insult to the word in the light of coming face-to-face with what fear really meant.

Hoseok feared the idea of a world without him in it.

These were tall words, but he had always been content with the fact that while Heechul was at arm’s length, he was still _there_. The thought of waking up one day and possessing the knowledge that Heechul was no longer in it was abhorrent to him.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked.

Heechul swallowed.

He likened the look on his face to that of a child, a lost and sad child.

“I want to be freed.”

“I-…”

Heechul shook his head. “I want my freedom.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Hoseok didn’t miss a beat.

Assuming that he wasn’t talking about freedom in the worst-case scenario, he could not entertain the thought of letting Kim Heechul out of the cell, out into the world – tasting his freedom.

_Stirring up trouble._

No matter which way he attacked it with his mind, it didn’t cease to be anymore absurd.

Heechul was clearly displeased.

Seeming to pull away from Hoseok, even though they were separated by the barrier, he took on a pensive look. In slow succession, it gave way to a look of fury, one that Hoseok knew all too well.

“Then we have nothing left to say to each other.”

 


End file.
